A Time For Understanding
by LackingWings
Summary: Sequel to "Hands, Palms, Fingers". A relationship develops amidst the war. SSHG
1. A Request

Chapter 1: A Request 

drip.…drip

The faint sound of ink droplets plummeting their way onto an otherwise faultless parchment brought Hermione out of her distant reverie. Silently, she mouthed a word rather foreign to her lips; her vocabulary usually restricted to academics and the occasional chiding of overly exuberant friends. She exhaled in frustration. These unsolicited digressions had been occurring all too often as of late— her paper proved the fact rather emphatically. Daydreaming was to Hermione a new and unique experience, but she knew such dreams often had their way with the unfocused mind of many a fellow classmate. However, she chanced she was most likely the only student brash enough to succumb to such divergent thoughts while situated in what could only be labeled as the most unpredictable area in the whole of Hogwarts: the dungeons. Or more specifically, the potions classroom. Usually the speed of her quill was in a perpetual race with the machinations of her mind. However, today there was a cog in the proverbial wheel, quill and brain both obviously suffering from an undiagnosed but terrible torpor.

She bit her lip, feeling a slight sting that she hoped would shake her brain out of whatever hole it was currently residing in. Truth be told, Hermione Granger was nervous. It wasn't the type of anxiety that came over her at the thought of an exam, or the fact that she might be only one week ahead of the syllabus rather than two. No, this was a type of tension entirely unto itself. And it was currently driving the Head Girl batty.

For the first few days after what she now identified as 'the incident', she had assumed the haze that had descended upon her was the reaction to seeing a man she had once thought to be immutably rigid acting to such a degree out of character. A docile Snape? Who would have thought it!

But it was more than that, and Hermione eventually had to concede as much. She was ashamed to admit it, but her midnight communion with the Potions Master, almost a month ago to the day, had been the first time in a long while that she had felt any sense of true understanding. When she had seen him sitting there, alone but for his obvious pain, she had set out to comfort him. But somehow during the night she had drawn comfort from him as well; comfort she hadn't known she had needed. For a girl who was often described with terms less kind than the euphemism "enthusiastic" (with which she had fondly been tagged by Professor McGonagall), it had been strangely appealing to her to communicate in absolute silence with this taciturn and brooding man. Priding herself on her memory, Hermione had years of stored conversations between she and her friends and family, from the mundane to that which bordered on the dramatic. Yet at the moment she was hard pressed to find one such instance which equaled the magnitude, in her eyes, of the empathy she had shared with her dark and unlikely companion.

But she had known matters would be altered once daylight came, and with it the approach of the normal school day. She had next seen him the following afternoon as he obligingly gave an unexpecting Hufflepuff the fright of her life. His sneer was back in position, his sadness having been replaced by the more predictable and anticipated fury that was usually exuded- in excess. And in class he had been much the same, stalking back and forth between desks, handing out the random scathing comment before returning to the head of the room to bestow upon all the patent Snape glare.

And it bothered her. For so many reasons. She wasn't sure if it was because she had sensed his desperation, his loneliness that had somehow enhanced her own. Perhaps it was the fact that he had been sitting in the Astronomy Tower for what she knew had been a lengthy amount of time without anyone venturing to find him. Or maybe it was the looks he now gave her; pregnant with indifference, or at times a general sense of displeasure.

She watched him now, sweeping about the room, currently the dark cloud over Neville's shoulder, his voice the thunder that was sending the poor boy into fits of cringing and ineptitude. But for perhaps the first time, this scene, unlike the many that had come before it, did not compel her to fly to Neville's defense. Her tendency to protect was surely directed elsewhere.

Honestly, she didn't know if she could do anything to help him, and she only had vague suspicions about what had upset him that night. But her presence had seemed to soothe him, and for that she was glad. She wanted to be nearby should the opportunity arise once again. She had known for a while now about his double life, and recognized that in all likelihood he was still being summoned to Voldemort's side. And it worried her. A rare mutinous thought concerning the Headmaster floated through Hermione's head. If she were Dumbledore, she thought she might place a bit more importance on the life of a former student and supposed friend. Sending the man into that assembly of monsters was cruel. Intellectually, Hermione understood the reason behind it. But she couldn't help wishing that someone else might take his burden. She wanted someone else to take all the pain, loneliness, and danger. But there was no one. And in addition to all that he suffered, he had no support, except for the man who continued to send him into the midst of the enemy. And Snape didn't deserve that. Because he was a good man, despite all his efforts to appear to the contrary. Of that she was sure.

So now she found herself waiting, biding her time until the end of class, when she planned to make her move. She hadn't needed to put much deliberation into her plan, really. She was known as the school's resident bookworm. The NEWTs would be upon them soon. It would seem natural if she should ask him for use of the potions room in the evenings. And from there she could check up on him. If he needed her, she would be there. And even if she wasn't able to help him, she could at least give herself some peace of mind, knowing that he had at least one other person in his corner.

Ah, he was dismissing them now. She could scarcely believe how quickly the time had passed, or how she had managed to fill her paper with such mindless dreck. She knew she must have been glaring at the parchment for the past fifteen minutes at least. Her hands had made the motions entirely of their own accord. Deep down, she was glad that her scowl might be confused with a look of intense concentration. It just wouldn't do to seem careless when she was about to ask her Professor such a 'daring' question. She snorted. Most of the time any question was too daring. But it had never stopped her before.

The class had filed out, leaving the room in the same state of tidiness as it had been when they entered. This was a habit the children indulged in only when surrounded by potions, cauldrons, and cold dungeons walls. Poor Professor Flitwick had daily disarray to charm away come the end of each class.

Books in hand, Hermione warily approached her sitting professor. His arms were a steady blur of movement. He reached for a paper, and a second later gave it a look of unadulterated loathing. With deft, satisfied motions he scrawled what was probably a most wounding assessment at the top, and then dispensed with it, letting the sheet of parchment hover its way gracefully to a stack of papers equally stained in the same shade of red.

Standing directly in front of his desk, Hermione coughed.

Not looking up from the tedium of his work, Snape dryly intoned, "Ah, Ms. Granger. You were particularly quiet today. Please do not tell me this is an attempt to rid me of the peace I attained in your silence."

That was the Snape she knew. Hermione knew how to deal with _this _Snape.

"Why no, Professor. Or, at least I hope not. Actually, I've come to ask a favor."

Receiving nothing but a raised eyebrow at this, Hermione continued, "The NEWTs are coming up, and I thought I'd rather like to run through some of the potions that we've created over the past few years, just to be prepared." She tried to stifle the bit of trepidation that had made itself known in her voice.

Finally looking up at her, Snape sneered. "So insecure that you feel the need to study months ahead of time? Perhaps if you paid more attention in class, you would not find such overcompensation necessary." He had a glint to his eye, and his voice, now being put to use doing something that he took pleasure in, had a lilt to it that Hermione might have even enjoyed had it not been at her expense. She had forgotten for a moment how he had loved a good confrontation. But no, she wasn't going to let him worm his way out of this one. He was a rather crafty fellow.

"Yes, Professor," she said, ignoring his dig, "you see, if I am to do this, I will need a place to brew the potions, and the proper ingredients as well."

The room was so silent Hermione thought she could hear the echo of her heartbeat reverberating off the dungeon walls. It was silly, really. If Snape's moods were a bit more reliable, she wouldn't be feeling quite as nervous.

"So," she hesitated, "I was hoping you'd allow me to use the potions room, preferably after dinner. By that time I'll have completed my duties as Head Girl, and most of my homework as well." She paused. "I don't think I'll take very long. I should get through the basic potions rather quickly, I should think."

There was another heavy pause. Hermione felt the urge to say something else, but decided against it, biting the side of her cheek to silence the words that had a habit of tumbling out.

He stared at her for a long moment, his gaze driving into her, adding to the tension she felt growing in the pit of her stomach.

Then he sighed, placing his hands on the desk and stretching them, his fingers spanning a good portion of the dark, antique wood. "Very well, Ms. Granger. You may make use of the laboratory after dinner for the next week. If I find this arrangement is working satisfactorily, then we can discuss any long term usage."

Unable to control herself, Hermione's face broke into a glowing grin. "Oh, thank you, Professor! I'm so glad that—"

Standing suddenly, Snape interrupted, bringing his face closer to hers. "There are…conditions, Ms. Granger, to this little arrangement." The timbre of his voice purred in triumph. "You will be silent. You will not disturb my work by any questions you may have, no matter the urgency I'm sure you shall feel to verbalize them. You will work quickly. You will leave when I tell you to. And you will inform me ahead of time what ingredients you will need. I won't have you pilfering through my private reserves." He gave her an especially intense glare then, and Hermione inwardly cringed. "Is that acceptable, Ms. Granger?" For some reason, his words resembled a challenge.

She looked him in the eyes staunchly. This is what she had wanted, after all. "Yes, Professor Snape. Thank you. I'll see you after dinner then." With a quick nod and a pivot of her heels, Hermione made a fair impression of her professor as she hurried from the room, robes billowing in her wake. Severus watched her leave, expressionless, still staring at the doorway a good minute after she had gone.


	2. A Departure

Chapter Two: A Departure 

Severus spouted forth a violent string of epithets as a particularly expensive set of vials unceremoniously clattered to the ground, splintering into pointed shards and covering the dungeon floor with the remnants of a now drossy deflating draught. His outburst wasn't born from the fact that the vials could not be restored with a simple repairing spell. It was more that his once reliable hands were now playing the traitor that brought him to such levels of irritation. If anything, he thought he could at least rely upon himself. He stormily collapsed into his chair, regretting it a moment later when he remembered his tendency towards Spartanism did not make for the most comfortable of furniture. He clutched his head in his hands, letting his elbows hold him up as he sat in silence, wondering for not the first time what was wrong with him. Why had he agreed to Ms. Granger's request?

With a sigh he straightened up, dipped his quill into a pool of scarlet ink, and began taking his frustration out on a pile of innocent first year compositions. The abrasive and rasping rhythm of the quill calmed him somewhat, and he was able to think more rationally. Ms. Granger indeed.

He resented that she thought him enough of a simpleton to not see through her poorly conceived of scheme. Did she consider him so foolish as to actually believe she required potions practice? His unhappiness threatening to erupt again, Severus didn't realize he had bestowed upon the girl a rather indirect compliment.

He had to admire her courage though. Not many--in fact, no one--had bothered to intrude upon his personal space in some time, particularly not with the excuse of looking out for him. However, he knew he should not let such a revelation affect his judgment. He honestly had not wanted to grant her his consent, but some latent sense of principle had compelled him to do so. Severus always returned a favor, and whether Granger knew it or not, she had done him a great service. And he didn't care to be in arrears with anyone. Whether said person was aware of the debt or not.

Gripping his pen in frustration, he exclaimed as it splintered beneath his too hard hold. To be honest, it was not Ms. Granger's actual presence that was the cause of his distress. Although his antagonizing of her had not abated over the years, he had learned to accept her surplus of academic zeal, and almost come to appreciate the vast stores of knowledge she was able to contain in that abundantly covered head of hers. But old habits die hard. She would ever be the Know It All in his eyes.

At least he knew she tended towards discretion. Else those bumbling dunderheads she called friends would certainly have boasted of greater troubles than they had already experienced in their young lives. Or at the very least there would be rumors circulating that the Greasy Git of a Potions Master was actually a pathetic, pitiable creature; not someone to be feared. But the imps still moved away from him in the corridors with undeniable fervor. He knew Ms. Granger had kept silent about the hours they had shared together in the darkness.

That night. It had been almost a month ago and still the thought of it was able to bring him some ease- which is why he had done his best to dismiss the memory from his mind. It was his weakness that put him in this current situation. He had accepted that he was a lonely man; at times he'd even reveled in his solitude. He reasoned that perhaps that was the reason the touch of this other human being had so thrown him. In fact, it had unsettled him to that point that even the Dark Lord had taken notice of the intangible change that had crept into his person that evening. Voldemort had been displeased when not able to identify the difference, and Severus received a bout of Crucio for his troubles. Upon returning to Hogwarts, he had promised himself never again to indulge in such selfish acceptance of human comfort.

This afternoon had been the first time that he had conversed with Granger outside of their usual exchange of inquiries and insults. And what had he done? He'd given in to temptation, letting the chit into his dungeons, practically inviting her to spend time with him! And for that Severus was truly angry; most of it directed squarely at himself, but he found he would gladly provide proof of his aggravation to anyone who'd volunteer for the job- willingly or otherwise.

Tonight he had sat at the head table, glaring at the rich food sitting atop his plate with unequivocal ferocity. When Dumbledore had inquired as to what was wrong, he managed to spit out a particularly hateful harangue that even had Hooch looking uncomfortable. He hadn't thought such a thing possible, but it had pleased him enough so that he was able to finish his dinner in marginally better spirits. But that had not been long to last, and he soon retired to his office, where he tried to summon sufficient energy in order to meet with his quick witted impediment in the laboratory. He wished he had not just thought of her in the possessive.

He groaned and rose to his feet, halting within a few paces of the door that separated his office from the classroom. Stalling for a moment, he placed a reluctant hand on the surface of the aged iron doorknob. He'd better get to it then. Hinges creaking in indignation, he passed through the entryway and advanced into the laboratory.

She was already there, waves of hair obscuring a face studiously bent over a cauldron. He watched her small frame as she stirred the concoction counter clockwise. He didn't realize he had made any noise upon entering the room, so it was rather unexpected when she turned around to face him. The corners of her mouth were turned up in friendly way, her eyes greeting him hopefully. Severus couldn't think of anything that displeased him more. With a frown, he turned his back to her, lengthy strides bringing him to his desk, where a plentiful amount of essays patiently waited for him.

She was still looking at him, but one glance sent in her direction took care of that nicely. Severus thought that just maybe he'd be able to live through this, dignity intact. He picked up the first paper on the stack that loomed upon his desk. Longbottom's. Severus supposed there would be no respite for him tonight. He understood that for some, the practical element of potion making posed a difficulty. But for the life of him, he could not comprehend how even the mere composition of a simple potions essay was so beyond the boy's reach. However, the fact that the script was shaky and denoted obvious fear almost made up for its appalling lack of insight.

Severus had to admit to himself that this wasn't as dreadful as he had anticipated. An hour into the session and he found it almost agreeable, having a quiet companion who expected nothing of him. He fixed his eyes on Ms. Granger as she added daisy root and distilled water in perfect synchronization. He remembered her first year, when he had thought a perpetual silencing charm was the only way to make her half tolerable. He thought she'd come a fairly long way since then. Not that he would let her know that, mind you.

They continued working in contented silence, Severus almost forgetting his guest was there, although there was an air of relaxation about his shoulders that would have seemed odd to anyone who studied upon it for longer than was necessary. So engrossed in his marking, he failed to notice Hermione standing beside him until her shadow had successfully blocked all light from the sheet of parchment he had so aptly been studying. She stood looking down at him, the glow from the candles filtering through her hair, creating an amber halo about her face, the locks looking very like they had the morning he'd left her bundled up in his cape, asleep in the Astronomy Tower.

"Professor, I'm sorry. I must have left dried hellebore leaves off the list that I gave you."

The words had been spoken softly so as not to startle him or disturb the precise process of inscribing devastating comments onto student essays. A particularly vivid memory of touching those strands of hair ran through Severus' mind. He couldn't very well raise his voice to her now.

Instead, with strong, purposeful steps he made his way to the cabinet, methodically removing the objects she desired from within and placing them in her outreached palms.

"There you are, Ms. Granger." His voice held none of its usual sarcasm or bite as he gave her his offering, fingertips inadvertently grazing the sides of her hands as he did so.

She examined him then, perhaps surprised she had received no rebuke for her noticeable carelessness. She gave the impression she wished to say something, the first formation of a word making its appearance on her lips. But whatever she might have said would remain unspoken.

Without warning, Severus bent over, clutching an offending arm to his body, as if protecting it from some visible foe.

Worriedly, Hermione took a step forward, closing the distance between them as she placed a supportive hand upon his shoulder, her grasp probably a bit firmer than intended.

Meeting her frightened gaze for an instant, he whispered, "I must go." Her hand was wrenched from him as he hastily made his way to the exit. Turning around, he instructed her in what he hoped would pass for an authoritative tone. "You should return to your room now."

Shaking her head in disagreement, Hermione murmured, "I'll wait for you."

He stared at her for a moment and opened his mouth as if to argue, only to grip his arm once more as another pang went through him. With a parting look, he gave her a curt nod before emptying the room of half its occupancy.

Hermione remained standing in the center of the laboratory, listening to the gurgle and pop of her cauldron, dried leaves still clutched between her fingers.


	3. A Return

Chapter 3: A Return

Had the stones comprising the dungeon floor had the ability to protest, they surely would have done so. For the past two hours they had been abused and trod upon by a fretful Hermione Granger, whose anxiety only continued to grow with the passing of time. Her cauldron had long ago ceased its simmering; worry clouded concentration and a few miscalculations had made the mixture contained inside of little value. All thoughts of potion making had been abandoned for the rapid, staccato beat of her heels and the occasional vocal assurance to all things inanimate that the one she worried for would indeed return safe and unharmed.

The dungeons had darkened considerably since Snape's departure. The candles ornamenting the room were burned almost to the wick, and the shadows they afforded offered Hermione little in the way of comfort. She wrapped her arms around herself as she observed their primeval dance, goose bumps being born on flesh all the while. There was a sad kind of desperation in the air that Hermione felt did not all originate from her. These were _dungeons_ after all. She was sure these walls had seen their share of misery. And she supposed it didn't help that their current master was tortured in his own right. Although the space was hushed, she felt the room whispering to her of times past and foul memories long gone. Shivering, Hermione struggled to keep her mind from projecting such dismal thoughts, preferring to turn her attention to the true cause of her discontent.

She looked towards the vacant desk at the head of the room, now emptied of Snape's particular blend of sarcasm and severity. She hadn't thought he would be called during her first night in the dungeons. She knew it to be wishful thinking, but a small part of her had believed that while in her presence he mightn't be called at all. At the very least she had thought her worries would diminish a bit if she were close to him at the time of his summons. Unfortunately, it had not turned out that way; it seemed the closer her proximity, the more intense were her concerns.

Her worries were not new by any means. There had been quite a few sleepless nights, with apprehension taking the place of dreams. She wondered if he had been called, and later in the night would speculate as to his health and the hour of his return. There had been one particular evening in the Gryffindor common room where she had voiced her fears to Harry and Ron. They tore themselves from their game of chess long enough to reassure her, claiming that Snape was a grown man whose inherent nastiness made him excellent for fitting in with "that sort of crowd". Hermione had been unable to find any peace in that statement. In fact, she'd had no peace at all until early morning breakfast, where Snape's scowl irritably attested that he was more than fine. He had taken note of her gaze then, the groove between his eyes deepening under her all too apparent scrutiny. In return, she had subtly smiled into her omelet.

Hermione made her way to her professor's desk, and upon arrival ran her hands over its surprisingly smooth wood. And then, so that she might feel closer to him, she found refuge in his chair. It was exactly as she expected it would feel; cold, hard and unyielding. It was simple in design, the epitome of plain— and wholly Snape. She knew it was foolish, but sitting in the place where he taught every day was in itself a comfort. She glanced around the room again, taking note of its familiar austerity. Being in the potions room was almost as good as having his cloak around her, she decided. His scent was everywhere, lingering in corners and shadows, just as the man himself was wont to do.

She began to fiddle with his the quill, usually found in the hand whose script so frequently graced her scrolls— the hand she'd held almost a month ago. She was sure that he'd hold this quill again. Nevertheless, her worries continued to plague her, just as the shadows lurking on the dungeon walls continued their depraved dance.

* * *

The inhabitants of Hogwarts had settled for the evening; the usual clamor of voices and laughter was now all but a whisper of the previous day. The children were asleep, and even those deviants who found their thrill in the shade of the night would not dare venture into the darkest recesses of the school. As a result, there was no one to witness the shadow of Severus Snape as he slowly made his way into the depths of the dungeons.

He paused for a minute, catching his breath whilst finding his equilibrium in the support of a nearby column. This night had been no worse than any other. In fact, for half of the revel the Dark Lord had felt the need to assert his prowess in the form of discourse rather than magical persuasion. Hence, the destruction that usually took place had subsided dramatically, though the evening still had not entirely been lacking in dastardly exploits.

While he was glad of his good fortunate, he realized it hardly seemed to make much difference in the end. There were moments when the physical pain was a welcome distraction from the regretful reminiscences that had a tendency to flaunt themselves after a night filled with this brand of interaction. Time and again he arrived home sapped, shaking, and intensely grateful that Dumbledore had seen fit to house him in the area of Hogwarts that saw the least amount of traffic.

Nearing the end of his journey, Severus found himself for the second time that night delaying upon the outskirts of the classroom door, all in an attempt to prepare himself for what might happen inside. Ms. Granger would be waiting for him. The thought had been in the back of his mind for the duration of the meeting. He had been absent for quite some time, and felt sure that anyone besides this particularly stubborn creature would have already retired to their rooms for the night, questioning why they had felt the need to freeze in the dungeons until the return of their ornery professor. But he knew that the cold and fears of what might lurk in the dark would not sway her. Ms. Granger was a rather determined young woman. Severus grunted at the thought.

He could not ascertain whether her presence was entirely welcome. Convention dictated that upon returning from a revel, he should cloak himself in solitude and attempt to gather together the pieces of self that Voldemort so happily had his way with. Such a night had the necessity of settling both mind and body. He was tempted to return to his rooms for the evening and let the girl fend for herself until morning. But conscience and curiosity was stronger than exhaustion or mere habit. He saw no option but to face his would be guardian, and was too weary to come up with any alternatives. Decision made, he quietly pushed his way through the door and anticipated what he would find waiting for him on the other side.

She was there, perched at his desk, a vision of innocence and anxiety. Her hands were caressing his quill almost reverently, her fingers now stained by the crimson ink which had escaped from the nib. She pushed a stray lock of hair from her face, bringing some of the ink to grace an already pink cheek.

Severus stood there in a daze, his mind in knots as he tried to reconcile the horrors he had just previously beheld with this current vision of loveliness. He stood rooted to the spot, indecision marking his face. He was still unable to budge when Hermione looked up from the desk, his figure finally coming into view.

Her face was a myriad of emotions. She was startled first, then relieved. If he was not mistaken, he thought he saw some happiness to her face as well, although she did not smile. Slowly, she raised herself from her position at his desk, and with measured, deliberate steps drew nearer to him. She halted a mere few inches away, looking up at his face with eyes far too knowing for age.

For some unknown reason, he had enormous trouble keeping her gaze. He tore his eyes from hers, bringing them to rest instead upon the flickering candles that rested a bit to her left.

And then suddenly he was in her embrace, welcoming arms winding about his shoulders, her face finding solace in the crook of his neck. Her warm breath hit his skin, her grip around his body only tightening its hold on him. And Severus noted that for the first time, someone was trembling in his arms—and the tremors and shudders were not born of fear.

He couldn't bring himself to hold her in return. His fingers hovered a hair's breadth from her lower back, wanting to return the hold but finding an invisible barrier of his own making preventing such mutual contact. But her warmth and scent found their way to him despite his lack of reciprocation. He closed his eyes, telling himself he would enjoy this comfort for only a minute longer. And that was all it took.

"Ms. Granger..." He choked out the name, meanwhile disentangling himself from her grasp.

Wide eyes stared back at him, filled with consternation. "Oh Professor, I'm sorry! Did I hurt you?" Her compassionate hands began an appraisal of him, patting down his arms and chest in an effort to evaluate his well being. He almost smiled then, but succeeded in stifling such a revealing action.

He stilled her hands by taking then in his much larger ones, effectively trapping them to his chest. She looked up at him again questioningly.

"I am fine, Ms. Granger. I assure you, I've been done no injuries…tonight." His voice was low and soft, in obvious gratitude for her caring, while also belying the fact that such providence was not a common occurrence.

Nevertheless, she seemed to relax upon hearing those words, only to tense a moment later upon the realization of much larger hands that were feeding warmth to her own.

Severus, abruptly aware that he held her, released her hands quite suddenly and took a step backwards. There was no hesitancy in his voice then, his words hitting her in rapid fire.

"And now Ms. Granger, that you have managed to miss curfew by a good four hours, I believe it is time you returned to your chambers." His voice had lost its softness, and he bit back the sudden urge to threaten house points.

This time Hermione did not protest, but once again tried to catch his eyes. She was met with stern, sable eyes staring into her. Nodded in acceptance, she drew her cloak about her shoulders in preparation for the lonely trip back to Gryffindor tower. She took a few steps towards the door, but then on second thought turned around and grabbed his slack hand once more, giving it a firm but gentle squeeze.

"Goodnight, Professor." Those two words were the only ones she spoke to mark her parting. A few seconds later the door had closed behind her, its echo highlighting the emptiness of the room.

Deflating, Severus let out a sigh and appraised the area around him. It didn't look as if she'd gotten much work done after he'd left. Stepping towards her cauldron, he grimaced as he smelled burned materials, grimace increasing as he saw the mess she'd made of it. Foolish girl.

He dragged his hands through his hair in exhaustion. He had a good six hours before his first class. He might as well make the most of it. He needed to change his clothes, which smelled of an odd combination of iniquity and floral perfume. And then some rest would do rather nicely.

On the way to his quarters Severus hesitated next to a dark but unassuming cabinet. He reached inside and drew out a potion from within its depths, considering its dark blue hue. He was not one who liked to admit dependency on _anything_, much less a potion he had brewed himself. But it was a useful draft, really. It would not only ward off the nightmares of all he had witnessed tonight. It would also prevent any dreams he might have of a certain wavy haired Gryffindor; one who had embraced him and looked at him with care. Severus warily took a measured swig from the bottle, grimacing at the foul taste. He disposed of the draught with a quick swish and flick, and then returned to his quarters for the remainder of the night, all the while muttering about how kindness would be his undoing.


	4. A Bruise

Chapter 4: A Bruise

A hasty turn of the head succeeded in reminding Hermione of the dull ache she had been nursing there since the close of breakfast. Shutting her eyes for a moment, she willed the pain to make its way towards someone a bit more deserving. A meaningful look was sent in the direction of Draco Malfoy, who had taken the time from his busy schedule to thrice insult her before it had even reached midday. Ice blue eyes met determined brown, a superior smirk gracing his features before he returned his attention to the cauldron facing him. Hermione glared at the back of his head before focusing again on the intermittent throbbing in her skull. However sadly, Hermione's headache made no note of its hostess' desire, and it comfortably settled behind her eyes for a seemingly lengthy visit.

The pain had been tolerable up until a minute ago. The dusky gloom of the dungeons had been surprisingly soothing on her strained nerves, and its scent was both welcome and familiar. She glanced around her surroundings. Heads were aptly bent over cauldrons, hands kept busy by rapid dicing and stirring. The only sound was the faintest clink of a knife, the gurgling of cauldrons and the grumble of grinding pestles. Hermione had never before been so grateful for the heavy silence that suffused the dungeons whenever class was in session.

She frowned, bringing her fingers to her temples in an attempt to alleviate the growing tension. The room was filled with the usual sense of anxiety; typically it failed to affect her. But her headache, coupled with last night's events, had weakened her resistance to the pull of that nervous energy. She sighed, trying to dislodge the hurt by applying greater pressure to the sides of her head. Still, the pain refused to diminish.

It certainly was no help that she couldn't remove her eyes from Snape's rather bleak form. Her gaze followed his rapid and erratic traverse around students and desks alike, his cloak sweeping about his legs with an ominous sway. Hermione wondered how he ever kept from tripping. A moment later he sharply turned his head in her direction. It seems her eyes had lingered too long as she pondered his aptitude for balance. He gave her a dark look, and Hermione hastened to tend to her cauldron.

He'd been pacing endlessly since the start of class, not stopping long enough to dole out the usual threats, but choosing to give them in between steps instead. His scowl was more pronounced, and even she found those hateful looks he was supplying to be genuine. She honestly didn't know what had provoked him into such a mood. He had been fairly tolerable as of late. In fact, the last week had been almost…pleasant. She had thought after her rash embrace of him that first evening he would cancel their nightly scheduled tête-à-têtes, but that had not been the case. Instead both made a tacit agreement not to discuss it. Snape never acknowledged what had passed between them, and they had been able to settle into a comfortable ritual of potion making and intellectual exchange.

The second night had started off in the manner of its predecessor. Snape sat at his desk grading papers, flourishing the hand that dealt disapproving strokes on many a page. It had been a bit unsettling for Hermione when he vacated his desk for a place at her side, helping to combine ingredients and answering whatever little queries she might have had. It had surprised her, but she expected it was his way of apologizing for his quick dismissal of her the previous night. The evening after that, he hadn't even bothered with his papers. When she arrived at the dungeons he was waiting for her and had already begun the time consuming process of ingredient preparation.

A heated voice broke Hermione out of her reverie. "Mr. Longbottom, you have now succeeded in rendering those tubeworms almost as worthless as you are. Move aside!"

Neville didn't have to be told twice. Face still green from his revulsion of this particular sort of activity, he scurried to another region of the desk and watched his professor expertly dice his worms into a rather viscous mass which still displayed the occasional twitch.

"You will get over your squeamishness, Mr. Longbottom. I don't care by what process you learn to control your qualms. But you will. If I am compelled to do this again, you will pay the penalty." The voice had become deep and menacing with those last few words; no one in the class held any doubts as to whether such a threat would be carried out. With one last look of disgust, Snape left the boy to deal with the remnants of escarpial carnage.

Hermione gave Neville a small smile, hoping to give the poor boy some encouragement. It seemed her smile wasn't enough for that though; Neville kept his head downcast, and he shook even as he tried to complete his task. It seemed that seven years of abuse from Snape had still not been enough to desensitize the boy to any overt declarations of dislike that might be directed towards him, no matter how consistently. Hermione thought that perhaps that was a good thing in the long run. It certainly said a great deal about Neville's character.

She fixed an angry stare at Snape over her cauldron. He was hovering by Harry now; he seemed to be waiting for the slightest excuse to vent his fury—particularly on his "favorites". Hermione shook her head. To think she had been worried about him last night. She added a pinch of powdered angelica root to her potion, watching as it began to take on the appropriate texture.

The last few nights Snape had been giving Hermione informal lessons on the intricacies of the Wolfsbane Potion. It certainly wouldn't be covered on the NEWTs. But it had come up in discussion, and the following night he had all the ingredients smartly lined up on the desk for her use. When Hermione had demonstrated confused but delighted surprise, he dismissed it with a graceful wave of the hand, claiming it was best if someone other than he was able to prepare it. He left its preparation entirely up to her, choosing to sit next to her and observe, giving advice where needed and showing her the best way to go about her tasks. Hermione had gotten lost in the job and good conversation; she liked to think they both had. But it was because of this enjoyment that she had forgotten the looming threat of the man whose face she had never seen, but who plagued her nightmares nevertheless.

There had been no need for words when a visible flinch ripped across Snape's face, a quiet hiss getting past his teeth. She'd rested her hand on his back for a second, and then he had gone. She thought she had better steeled herself against the worries, but she'd been wrong. She waited for hours, in the end infinitely longer than she had that first night. Hermione had become frantic at one point, promising to fetch Dumbledore should Snape not return within the hour. At the end of that hour, Hermione stood up from her desk, preparing to sprint all the way to the Headmaster's office. She was interrupted by the somber head of Professor McGonagall which had appeared in the fireplace. She had grimly informed Hermione that Professor Snape had been detained and was currently meeting with the headmaster. Hermione was instructed to return to her rooms for the night; under no circumstances was she to leave. Before McGonagall disappeared Hermione had asked if Snape was truly alright.

"He's home, Ms. Granger. Now to bed with you."

And so Hermione left the dungeons for her more comfortable quarters, somewhat less reassured than she'd like to be. But from what she could see now, Snape was fine, if not a bit more agitated than the norm. She had the sneaking suspicion that last night he'd been complaining to the headmaster about her intrusion into his life. Maybe she should lessen her visits. The thought was rather a reluctant one.

She began studying him again, taking in even the smallest of details. His complexion was pale, even for Snape. And he looked tired; dark circles surrounded even darker eyes, making his appearance sickly and somewhat menacing. It was actually quite odd, because he'd looked no worse than usual last night. Feeling those inquisitive eyes upon him, Snape turned around once more, and Hermione thought she saw him wince when doing so. He met her gaze, and she gave him a worried, questioning look. She furrowed her brow when his hand began to shake. He was looking at her with a warning in his eyes; they glittered dangerously. Refusing to acknowledge it, Hermione stood to go to him.

CRASH

Hermione glanced down to an area near her foot, where she found a sad, little beaker had met its untimely end. Frozen above it was Neville, hands outstretched in what had been an attempt to circumvent the effects of gravity. He was cringing before he had even fully straightened to an upright position.

Snape made it halfway to Neville, and then stopped; his face was livid. "Get. Out." His voice was slow and threatening, and though the address was meant for Neville, his eyes were boring into Hermione as he spoke.

"Get out! All of you! Leave at once!" Snape's voice was booming now, anger contorting his face. He took another beaker off a nearby desk, hurling it across the room, dangerously close to the heads of a few unfortunate students. It hit a solid, stone wall and shattered as if to punctuate his command.

The students needn't any further urging. Papers and books were gathered in haste, all fleeing the dungeons with great conviction. All, that is, except Hermione.

Snape was still trembling; from rage or something more Hermione couldn't tell. She warily approached him, and when he said nothing she tried to hold his hand, in the end only managing to reach a corner of his sleeve. She grasped it anyway and tried to look into his face, now cold and impassive.

"What's wrong?" Her tone was soft and full of genuine concern.

It was that concern that drove Severus over the edge. His strong hands came up to Hermione's arms and gripped her forcefully, his fingers digging deeply into her flesh. Then he lunged forward, driving her up against the wall, her head cracking against the hard stone with the force of his movement. He held her, suspended, both of them breathing heavily. Ebony hair framed his face in darkness as it hovered a mere few inches from hers.

"What are you doing here? You think you can help me? You know nothing," he whispered venomously, his breath brushing across her face in an almost lewd caress. "It's over. All of it. There'll be no more concern for your greasy potions professor. No more ludicrous pity." His voice was strained at the end of the last sentence. He shoved her against the wall again, and Hermione flinched, tears trailing down her cheeks. "Your services are no longer necessary, Ms. Granger." He spit out her name, utter loathing in his eyes. And then, still holding her by the arms, he dragged her towards the exit, brutally shoving her from his presence, the door slamming a moment later. She heard the sound of an incantation being muttered, effectively warding the room against all intruders. Against her.

Hermione remained sprawled in the middle of the hall, shoulders shaking in silent sobs. She was not alone. Harry, who had thoughtfully waited for his friend, now stared at her with a mixture of alarm and confusion. His muddled state only lasted for a minute though, and he started towards her, concern written in his eyes. But a quivering hand held in the air stayed his steps.

Hermione rose, wiping the tears from her eyes. With a pain filled look she stretched out an arm, fingers running down the wood of the now closed door. Then with a flinch she grabbed the back of her head, which was already manifesting the first formation of a bruise. Harry looked at her questioningly, but Hermione just shook her head, not yet able to speak. She bent down and grasped her wand, which had fallen to the floor from the force of her ejection. She gripped it tightly, fingers becoming numb in the process.

She gazed down at her clenched hand and its claw-like appearance. And then she realized…she was angry. _How dare he_. Righteous indignation marring her face, she gathered herself together, her head raised high as she strode out of the dungeons, desperate to escape its confines and the miserable git that dwelt there. And after a suspicious glare directed towards an absent Snape, Harry followed.


	5. A Conversation

Chapter 5: A Conversation

It was well past midnight, and Gryffindor Tower had settled into a sweet, somnolent slumber; even the crackling of the fire had died down to a mere whisper of its former glory. An air of hushed desolation had descended upon the common room; books and games in disarray, having been deserted for far more relaxing pursuits. Most students were found firmly ensconced in their beds, sleeping bodies hidden by fine beddings and hanging draperies. But Hermione was not "most students". Tossing and turning, she found her bed too lumpy, her sheets too starched, and her mind too filled with a special form of irate confusion that refused to allow her the freedom to drift into restful oblivion. Her inability to reach such a state irritated her, although she highly suspected that if she were to actually succumb to exhaustion, the resulting dreams would be none too pleasant. She scowled into her pillow, still consumed with the events of what had been a truly horrendous day.

After her exchange with Snape, Hermione had been followed to her room by a troubled and solemn Harry Potter. He had been quite the caring and compassionate companion, patting her back worriedly as he asked her what was wrong, worry increasing at the sound of her silence. However, his mood quickly changed when Hermione instructed him in her haughtiest tone, amid still present sobs, that his presence was in no way welcome or desired. Harry's voiced had risen then, vowing that he would not leave until she explained what had transpired between her and Snape.

"You aren't the type to cry over nothing, Hermione. Obviously, he did something that hurt you to get this kind of reaction."

"What about the tooth incident?" she asked, sarcasm polluting her voice. She honestly didn't feel like rehashing the scene in the dungeons, with Harry or anyone else. Hermione tended towards the belief that utter humiliation was something best kept to oneself. But upon hearing her words, she realized she was being difficult, and Harry didn't deserve that. She needed to keep anger firmly where it belonged. And at the moment, Severus Snape was its sole owner and proprietor.

Harry's voice took on the commanding tone that he had developed over the years as unofficial leader of Gryffindor House, although considerably softened for his friend. "This is different, and you know it. Please, don't think I'll let you brush this off. You have to tell me."

And so she did. She proceeded to narrate _nearly_ the entire story: how she had come across Snape in the Astronomy Tower, how she had decided he needed to have someone he could depend on, and how she had tried to be that someone and failed. A fleeting smile played across Hermione's lips when she relayed to Harry how Snape had helped her with the most difficult of potions, and a few shuddering breaths were taken when describing how he'd shoved her against the wall, that look of utter loathing clouding his eyes. In the end, Hermione only left out certain small bits of information; they would mean nothing to Harry, but meant everything to her. She doubted he'd care to hear how she'd held Snape's hand, or how for a brief moment he had allowed her to embrace him. She thought she might lose Harry's sympathy with that information, and she wasn't in humor to hear how she might need a visit to St. Mungos.

At the end of her story, Harry sighed and took a seat on her bed. He took her hand in his, his sharp eyes serious as he spoke. "Hermione, I understand what you were trying to do, and I love how you always try to help people. But Snape…Look, don't dismiss my opinion just because I don't like the man. He's a tough one to help, Hermione. While maybe it's true that he 'needs someone' to be there…I think it's dangerous for you to try to fill that need. He may be on our side now, but he is still an unpredictable, dangerous man. Please, promise me you'll stay away from him."

Hermione gave him a bitter look before turning away, muttering to the wall, "I don't think that will be a problem, Harry."

He gave her hand a firm squeeze. "Is there anything else you want to tell me?"

Hermione shook her head, drawing the blanket up tighter around her body.

"Well, alright then. Get some rest and cheer up. We'll go to Hogsmeade tomorrow, and I can promise you some delightful distractions." He waggled his eyebrows comically, and Hermione humored him with a laugh, albeit a small one. Bending down, Harry planted a chaste kiss on the center of her forehead and then left, supposedly in order to collect Ron so that they might plan out the debauchery of the coming day.

Unfortunately, the brief smile that had made an appearance on Hermione's face disappeared with Harry's parting, and was soon replaced by hot, resentful tears. She'd stewed in her room for the remainder of the afternoon, the memory of Snape's cold eyes and his breath upon her face ensuring that she would get no school work done that night. She therefore decided that the evening would be designated for enjoying the taste of bitter ire she was currently cultivating. To her surprise, she almost enjoyed the feeling, and had a passing thought that she finally understood why Snape found this particular emotion to be so tantalizing.

However, Hermione found that laying in bed alone and surrounded by darkness was a difficult way to maintain one's anger. Huddled in ball at the side of her bed, the underlying hurt behind her animosity had an easy time of making itself known in her bloodshot eyes and the tears therein.

Sniffling, Hermione reached over to her desk for a box of tissues. But rather than the expected soft material, her hands grasped something far more rough and coarse. With a quick "Lumos" her room flooded with light. It took a moment for her sore eyes to adjust to the brightness the spell had produced. Squinting slightly, she looked down and saw clutched tightly within her fingers Snape's cloak; the one she had never returned. She dropped it guiltily as if she'd been burned, as if Snape would know that she had been consorting with his clothing. She wiped her hands on her bedspread unconsciously.

Hermione laid back down on the bed and archly stared at the dark material of the cloak, taking note of its folds, wrinkles and frayed edges. She _hated_ that man. Harrumphing, she turned her back towards the irritating garment, giving it the cold shoulder that was meant for its master. But even with her back turned she felt its presence. _His_ presence. Getting up, she glowered before tossing it into the corner of her room, watching it land in an undignified heap next to the waste bin. She glared at it for a good minute before deflating disappointedly. Her anger had nothing to do with the cloak, and giving it all the abuse in the world would do little to ease her mind.

She was never going to get any sleep with that man darkening her thoughts. It seemed whether she was worrying over his health or obsessing over his cruelty, the mere idea of him prevented any semblance of rest. Hermione bent down, slipping her feet into the plain black shoes which lay disorderly by the nightstand. She at least deserved to know how she had earned the rather sizeable bruise at the back of her head. The most logical thing to do was to fulfill her curiosity, and then move on, just like Harry had advised.

Grabbing her school robes and hurriedly throwing them over her nightdress, Hermione discreetly slipped out of her room and away from Gryffindor Tower on a quest for enlightenment, and should that remain unattainable, a heavy sleeping draught from the Infirmary.

Arriving at the door to the Headmaster's office, she waited patiently, although slightly lacking in breath. Seven years at this institution had taught her that while the password was indeed handy, Dumbledore would know you were waiting to see him regardless. Within moments the stairs appeared, and Hermione took her place upon them, gripping the railing as her eyes gazed ever upward. She usually felt awed each time she ascended those stairs. To go from a cold hallway into a magnificent room by way of that circling staircase felt almost like a rebirth of sorts. She didn't feel that way tonight though. She supposed the poet in her must have had its sensibilities knocked askew from the earlier impact of her head striking the wall.

She made her way to the entrance of Dumbledore's office, the familiar smell of old books and old wizard assaulting her senses. She immediately saw him upon entering. His body was surrounded by antique, towering tomes, gaudy gadgets, and a beautiful bird that seemed to have retired for the night. He seemed tired and unusually small; at the moment, his appearance belied every one of his years. But it was the seriousness in the Headmaster's eyes that surprised Hermione most of all, and she felt her body tense in response.

"Ah, Ms. Granger. I must admit, I have been waiting for you. Won't you sit down?"

Hermione stepped further into the room and let herself sink into a generously stuffed burgundy chair, uncomfortable despite all appearances to the contrary.

"Lemon drop?"

Hermione shook her head. An amusing thought crossed her mind; it seemed any unhappy feelings Dumbledore experienced were to be assuaged with an ample helping of sweets and lemon drops. If only things were so simple.

"Well then. I don't wish to humor you with the usual pleasantries and small talk, Ms. Granger. I realize you would hardly welcome such things at the moment." The headmaster gave her a kindly look before continuing. "I know why you are here. Professor Snape came to me moments after your quarrel. He was quite distraught." Dumbledore paused, seeming to wait for some kind of reaction on her part. Receiving none, he resumed his speech. "He stormed into my office most upset, offering me his resignation. I, of course, did not accept."

"Why not?" Hermione finally found her tongue, her anger doing a good job of reviving it. "Distraught? Good, I'm glad. He was horrible…and…and…abusive! And it was completely uncalled for, Headmaster. I didn't do anything to provoke him. Nothing at all!"

Dumbledore gave her a sad smile. "No, I'm sure you did not." Then he gave her a rather curious look. "Severus says that you have been visiting him in the dungeons."

Hermione pursed her lips and arched her brow. "I think that is well over."

Dumbledore sighed then, sorrow settling into the creases and crags of his face. "What a pity. Severus has always lacked in friendship. I had hoped he had found one in you. Especially now…"

Frustration bubbled inside her, and Hermione found herself using a tone of voice she would otherwise have thought completely inappropriate when addressing an elder. "Especially now _what_? Please, Headmaster, don't play games with me. Is there something I should know? Why did Snape lose control like that?"

Although in the protection of his own quarters, Dumbledore's voiced lowered considerably, and Hermione felt herself drawing closer so that she might hear his whispered words. "You are aware that Professor Snape works for the Order."

"Yes."

Dumbledore nodded, continuing, "Ms. Granger, the life of a spy is not an easy one. Severus has made many sacrifices along the way. He has even given up the possibility of a quiet life of solitude, as would be his wish, and has put himself in considerably danger on a weekly, sometimes nightly basis. And he has done all this willingly. Severus has never forgiven himself for mistakes of the past; his life is now a way towards restitution, and a hope that he might make himself useful."

Impatiently, Hermione countered "I know all this, Headmaster, or at least I surmised as much. What does all that have to do with this afternoon?"

Dumbledore frowned. "Child, as of last night, Professor Snape no longer has his position as spy to make him feel useful. He was discovered by Voldemort late last night, and was returned to us with a good amount of broken bones and bleeding. While you were in the dungeons waiting for him, Professor Snape was being tended to by Madame Pomfrey in the Infirmary."

Hermione's felt her heart give a little jolt. It seemed all the fear she'd felt for Snape hadn't dissipated in the past few hours after all. "Discovered? How?"

"He was ordered to carry out a task which he could not bring himself to do. Those loyal to Voldemort often have that loyalty called into question. Severus has always been able to pass any such test, no matter how he despised himself afterwards. He believed any harsh action taken by him might save lives at some point in the future. But for whatever reason, last night he hesitated." A look of pride crossed Dumbledore's face then that Hermione found a bit strange. "Voldemort sensed it, and immediately knew that Severus was not the loyal disciple he claimed to be."

Dumbledore's withered hands curled into fists atop his desk as he continued speaking.

"They had the intent to kill him. It was good fortune and Severus' sheer determination that returned him to us."

The headmaster looked meaningfully at her, and Hermione felt a few unbidden tears course down her cheeks.

"So you must understand, Ms. Granger, that the actions he took against you today were not caused by any anger felt against you. He is not adjusting well to his newfound freedom. He has disappointed himself, and feels that he has disappointed me as well. He can't bring himself to understand how proud I am that he could not do what Voldemort required of him." Dumbledore halted his words for minute, the satisfaction he felt was evident and shining in his face.

"Severus refused to take the day off; he insisted that he would at least teach, if he could do nothing else. I thought that it would be all right, that perhaps you might talk to him…I can see that was a mistake now, and I'm sorry."

Hermione shook her head. "It's not your fault, Headmaster. I should have known something was wrong last night when I saw Professor McGonagall instead of Snape. But I was just so relieved to hear him home that I accepted it."

Bending her head into her hands, Hermione cradled her skull. It was so much to take in. Head still bowed, she whispered, "What's going to happen to him now?"

"He will continue to teach at Hogwarts, and I'm sure his expertise on Voldemort will help the Order immensely. Unfortunately, that is not enough for him…he feels quite the failure."

Dumbledore examined her. "Hermione, might I ask what made you befriend your professor in the first place? He is not a nice man, and I am well aware of the view the general student population has of him."

Sitting up, Hermione answered "No, he's not nice. But he let me see him as a man for just a moment, rather than the snarky potions professor. And it was enough to make me want to help him. It was barely a decision on my part. It happened so fast…" Her voice trailed off.

Dumbledore nodded understandingly. "Will you continue to see him?"

Hermione looked lost. "I don't know, Headmaster. I understand now why he was acted as he did. But…he really hurt me." Her voiced was laced with tears.

"I understand, Hermione, and I will not urge you to see him. You are an adult now, a few months away from graduation. Who you choose to have a relationship is up to you. But, I admit it is a selfish hope that Severus will one day have a friend he can confide in. He cannot truly open up to me; he has too many fears of disappointing me, of not living up to my expectations."

Dumbledore drew nearer to Hermione, his soft words coupled with a look of utter conviction.

"He is a solitary man, but complete isolation is healthy for no one."

The room suddenly became still; Dumbledore's never ending well of words seemed to have grown dry, and Hermione had taken in all the information she could for the night. A feeling of abrupt exhaustion descended upon her, and Hermione stood, not wanting to listen to any more appeals to her sympathy. She had experienced too much in the past twenty four hours; she needed some time to absorb all this and sort out her feelings.

"Thank you, Headmaster. This has been most…informative. But I need time to take all of this in. I'm so tired…I think I'll return to my rooms now."

Dumbledore looked rather disappointed at her lack of professing undying friendship for the Potions Master, but he didn't say anything. "Of course, my dear. May you have pleasant dreams."

Hermione gave him a wan smile, and then turned towards the door. Head heavy with fatigue and sorrow, she would have no need of that sleeping draught tonight. Feet dragging as she made her way through the corridor, the echo of her footsteps was her only companion as traveled in the direction of her rooms, which she thought were both too near and at the same time much too far from the castle dungeons.


	6. A Privilege

Chapter 6: A Privilege

Hermione grinned as she relaxed her arms, allowing her bed to take the full weight of the various books and sweets she had acquired while at Hogsmeade. It had been a wonderful afternoon; full of laughter and the bawdy but welcome companionship of her two favorite boys. She realized that as she had been making quite the habit of worrying and brooding, she'd forgotten the satisfaction that could be gleaned from spending a carefree day amongst friends. They'd had a good deal of fun, which had been rather surprising. She had not been in great spirits to begin with, and Harry had been a bit peaked and pale, claiming headache and lack of sleep for his initial lethargy. But Ron had been jovial enough for the three of them, and she and Harry had been happy enough to partake in his laughter's sweet contagion. Ron seemed to be of the same opinion as Dumbledore; candy cures all ills. He had plied his friends with sugar aplenty, and even now she was aware of the aftertaste of some unknown treat upon her lips. The massive amounts of sugar, light hearted conversation, butter beer, and reminiscing had gone a long way towards distraction, just as Harry had promised.

Sinking onto her bed, Hermione let out a sigh, relishing the relief it gave her to rest her aching feet, which were weary from the day's exertions. She stretched across the bed, wishing she could remain in this state of tranquil seclusion, rather than disrupt it for what she knew might become a very discouraging encounter. While she'd had a fine time with the boys, they'd not fully been able to divert Hermione from her thoughts about their potions professor; she believed it to be a testament to her one-tracked mind more than anything else. She had known as soon as she returned home she would venture to the dungeons to speak with him.

She felt so much better than she had the previous night. Understanding went a long way towards forgiveness. She scowled briefly, thinking how pleased Dumbledore would be were he to hear her say that. Still, she wouldn't fool herself; her anger for Snape hadn't completely dissipated. He'd had no right to treat her in such a brutal manner. She rather thought all her hours of worrying for him shouldn't have been repaid with a resounding knock to the head. But she also knew how much his job as a spy had meant to him, and she understood at least on some level the loss he was experiencing. She could forgive him. And she thought that was something he should know, whether he would care to hear such a revelation or not.

Hermione rose from her bed although both body and mind were in a state of protestation. She walked to her mirror and began running a nearby brush through her tangled hair, both in an effort to tame it and also in order to indulge in a few minutes of uncharacteristic procrastination. She truly wanted to speak with Snape; there were things that needed to be said. But she was afraid— although not that he would hurt her. Rubbing the back of her head ruefully, she knew that this bruise was as far as he would take it. Her real worries stemmed from the fact that Snape was a passionate man; indeed, that was something he proved daily. The problem was, that passion had a way of working its magic on her as well. Hermione was usually one to premeditate her actions, but with Snape there was no thinking; she relied entirely upon gut instinct. It was a bit disconcerting.

She finished brushing her hair and then looked to the corner of her room, where Snape's cloak still lay; lonely, but not forgotten. At the moment, she was exceptionally pleased that she'd kept it. Now she had a reason to seek him out; she would just tell him she was returning his cloak. Of course, such a return was rather belated, and a shoddy excuse at that. But as she could think of nothing better, she would just have to make do. There was no doubt he wouldn't want to hear the true reason for her visit, and she had no illusions to the contrary. She would _not_ be welcome. Nevertheless, she wasn't going to go anywhere until she'd had her say. Yesterday, Snape had taken her by surprise. It was time the tables were turned.

Soon Hermione found herself traveling down the steps she'd grown to know so well in the past week. The light grew dimmer, the air a bit damper—it was comforting, which she thought was perhaps a bit disturbing. But it was also enticingly dark and mysterious, preying upon her natural curiosity. Snape's cloak swung from her arm with every step; it was sad, really. She felt as if it belonged to her now, and she was sorry to see it go.

It took only a few more minutes to reach the classroom. She paused only for a small moment before delivering with her knuckles two sharp, succinct raps onto the heavy door before her. It remained impassive as ever, and she received no answer. Even so, she knew he was there. It was a depressing thought, but she realized he had nowhere else to be.

Well, Hermione thought, seeing as how she was unlikely to receive an invitation, she would just have to let herself in. The fact that he wouldn't want visitors was a given, and ultimately not enough to deter her from her mission.

Pushing her way through the door, she crossed the barrier in one smooth motion. The classroom was eerily empty. The room was not only devoid of its many students, but it was devoid of its professor as well. She surveyed her surroundings, unbidden memories of her last time here flooding back to memory. She remembered the cold wall, his deep glare, and his warm breath upon her face. Hermione shivered, drawing Snape's cloak closer to her chest.

She could think of only two other places where he might be; his office, or his quarters. Hermione had no idea where his room was. Besides, even she would not have the gall to intrude upon him there. She strode over to the door of his private office, her small hand readying to knock when she stopped mid-motion. The door was ajar. That was so unlike him. Snape the spy would never leave a door unlocked, much less half open. Then again, she supposed he was no longer a spy. Her heart gave a little jolt of sorrow at that thought. Bracing herself, she slid the door all of the way open and stepped inside.

The room was dark. There was the flickering of only one modest candle to light it, and Hermione's eyes needed to adjust to the gloom. She took a further step inside, and her gaze immediately came to rest upon the man she'd been searching for. He was there—sitting on the floor, propped up against an barren, gray wall. His left arm was bare and outstretched, precariously positioned on one knee. Eyes firmly glued to the mark that was still visible in this low level of light, he didn't take any notice of her. His dark figure so blended into the shadows that were it not for his pale skin she might have missed seeing him entirely.

Hermione was torn—he looked so lost; even more so than on New Years Eve. She had helped him once. Could she do so again? Did she even want to? She stared at him, trying to come to terms with the disorderly, conflicting emotions that were running through her.

"Professor?" Her voice had wanted to come out in a trembling whisper. Instead she forced it into a steady inquiry. It was greeted with only silence.

"Professor Snape?" Still no answer, and this time her voice had been considerably raised. She frowned, taking a deep breath in order to brace herself for what would be her most courageous act of the day.

"Severus?" His name had come out as a mere murmur, spoken with barely enough force to pass her lips. But it had been enough.

Those black, brooding eyes, which had moments before seemed so far away, instantly snapped up to her now frightened face, his lips curling in a sneer. He quickly covered his forearm with his sleeve. Then springing to his feet, he came within inches of her face.

"Ms. Granger, if I'm not mistaken, I made myself perfectly clear when I said you were not to burden me with your…irksome…presence any longer." He drew closer, trying to intimidate her with his stronger, greater mass.

Hermione felt herself backing away. It seemed her body had not forgotten the abuse given to it by the man opposite her, although her mind was nearing forgiveness. She willed herself to stand her ground.

"Yes, Professsor, and you did quite a good job of it. But I—"

"No!" he raged, fire in his eyes. "I'm in no mood for your company. I have no need to fraternize with a self-important, Know It All _Gryffindor_." He drew back from her suddenly, his voice still rising in volume, and Hermione thought she could make out a vein jumping on his forehead. "The only reason I'm ever sought out is if I can provide a service for someone. Let me assure you, Ms. Granger, I can you give _nothing_. Do you understand? Nothing!" He was shouting at her now, worse than he ever had at Harry or Neville. He turned his back to her, trying to calm himself down, shoulders heaving with the great effort. He spun around to face her. "Why are you still here?" he hissed.

She looked at him with sad, knowing eyes. "I wanted to tell you that I forgive you for yesterday. And I…I spoke with Dumbledore." She blurted out the last sentence, fighting the urge to cover her mouth with her hands.

Severus stared at her, instantly deflating upon hearing her words. He didn't respond, but once again took his place against the wall, sinking to a sitting position.

Hermione sighed, and then took a seat next to him. He looked at her, and then took note of his cloak, which had draped itself across her legs. He cocked an eyebrow, and she admitted sheepishly. "I came to return your cloak." That got a smirk out of him. Good.

For a few minutes they sat in what was not an uncomfortable silence. In fact, she found she quite liked being silent with Snape; it made things much simpler. Hermione would happily have continued in this vein, but there were things that needed to be said.

"Can I tell you something?" Her voice cut through the silence, an intruder upon their tenuously attained peace.

"I hardly think I could stop you." There was no longer any venom to his tone. He seemed to be resigned to whatever this conversation might bring, which brought Hermione some semblance of comfort.

She nodded. He was looking straight ahead of him, so she addressed his profile as she spoke. "I'm glad you were discovered."

He turned to face her, his expression angry and hateful. "Get out," he ordered.

Hermione raised her eyebrows, and then realized that had perhaps not been the most tactful way to begin the conversation.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean it like that. Let me explain?" She grabbed a hold of his hand. Severus continued to stare at her but remained still, and she took that as her chance to speak.

"What I meant was, I'm glad that you aren't at the forefront of this war anymore. I'm sure you know why I wanted to come to the dungeons in the evenings." She gave him a meaningful look before quietly continuing. "I've worried about you for some time now. So last night, when Dumbledore told me you'd been exposed, I was unhappy for you, because I know it's not what you would have wanted. But I was mostly glad, because now I know you'll be safe."

Severus shook his head tiredly. "Ms. Granger, there is more to life than being safe. I should be doing what I can to end this war. Instead I'm sitting in these dungeons, an utterly useless wretch. It's my duty, to be out there. It's the only way I can make amends for certain….wrongs… that have been committed." He paused, realizing that perhaps he was revealing too much. Bitterly, he whispered, "You should not worry for someone like me."

Hermione became angry at that statement. "Why do you want to think so poorly of yourself? Don't you understand how much I respect you? And not just because you are my teacher or because you've managed to fool Voldemort for years." She lowered her voice. "I've never faced the moral struggles that you have. I've never had to learn the difference between right and wrong. I respect you so much, because you struggled, and you've overcome it. Just like you will overcome this." She finished with authority in her voice.

Snape glared at her with total disdain. "Overcome? Ms. Granger, I was discovered. I _failed_. Pray tell, how have I overcome anything?"

Hermione sighed. "How many years have you played the spy? Four? Five? Longer? When you lasted the first week, I'm sure everyone was pleased; their little plan was working. The first month, they were relieved you'd lasted that long. The first year? Ecstatic. You managed to prevent that axe from falling for a very long time, Professor. You _have_ to have known that you would be discovered eventually. But you lasted longer than anyone else ever could have. You should be so proud." Almost inaudibly, she added, "I am."

He gave her a strange look then and turned away, his attention returning to the spot on his turned down sleeve where the dark mark lay dormant underneath.

"May I see it?" She didn't think she'd ever spoken so timidly, and had every expectation of being turned down in a most malicious manner.

He looked at her face, examining her eyes. Whatever it was he was searching for he seemed to find. Severus slowly rolled up his sleeve and extended his arm towards her. His eyes never left her face, waiting for the cringe and intake of breath that was sure to follow.

The mark was black, and indeed covered a great expanse of his flesh. But she somehow wasn't repulsed as she knew she ought to be. With careful trepidation she reached out her hand, lightly brushing the darkened skin. Severus hissed, withdrew his arm, and covered it once more.

"It's just skin you know." She spoke the words softly, knowing she'd just been given a very special privilege.

"It's much more than that."

They were both right in their own way, and Hermione had no wish to argue with him. Instead they just sat there, shoulder to shoulder, listening to the sound of their breath and whatever other odd noise the dungeon had in its mind to produce.

"It's late. I'd better go now."

Hermione rose, her back slightly stiff from sitting against stone for such a lengthy period of time. Snape made no move to get up and see her to the door. He still appeared to be sad, but she didn't think he'd allow her to comfort him any more than she already had.

She took a step towards the door, and then realized she still had his cloak gripped in her hands. She was very sorry to part with it, and was almost tempted to bring it back to her rooms. She rubbed her thumbs across the material one last time, memorizing its rough, abrasive texture.

She bent down next to Severus, her knees lightly touching the cool floor. Taking the cloak, she spread it across his legs, tucking in the corners so that the damp air wouldn't get to him. He didn't say anything, but watched her with a look of disbelief in his eyes. A feeling of warmth welled up inside of her, and she leaned over, brushing her lips gently across his cheek. She drew back then, startled at her boldness.

He was still staring at her rather unnervingly.

"Goodnight, Sir," she stammered.

Then with crimson cheeks and the faintest fluttering of robes, she was gone.


	7. An Examination

Chapter 7: An Examination

Hermione silently groused as she descended the twisting stairs that led to the Gryffindor common room, her arms straining as she attempted to balance a precarious looking stack of textbooks and fly away papers. The shared space was teeming with the interminable hum and hyperactivity of a rather large group of exuberant third years; it seemed one of the more popular ones was celebrating a birthday. As soon as dinner had ended, a great mass of them had scurried their way to the tower, and the room had soon been swathed in all the trimmings for a red and gold celebratory event. Hermione was ever so grateful that she would not have to spend her evening amongst them. She frowned as she had a bit of difficulty with a particular step. None of the children made any move to assist her. She looked at them only to roll her eyes a moment later. It seemed they had followed Dumbledore's example and were now suffering from acute sugar induced glee. Making her way across the landing, Hermione navigated the cluttered floors, narrowly missing a cake carrying slip of a boy who at least had the decency to give her an apologetic glance before joining his friends.

She made her way to an empty table and tried to straighten her literary tower before making her exit. Distracted by the commotion and weight of her burden, she nearly overlooked the lone figure who seemed to be enjoying the party in his own singular manner. She peeked at him over the top of her books. He was slumped into his seat, his brows furrowing when a plump child let out the most raucous stream of curses as his drink settled into an unhappy puddle in the center of the well worn carpet.

Amused, Hermione let out a small laugh. "Harry? What are you doing? Please tell me you have something better to do than to sit around in this…din." She looked at the room and the occupants therein rather skeptically.

Harry gave her a wan smile. "No, right now this is fine. I actually don't mind the noise. I'm glad they're having fun…" His voice trailed off, and for a moment he seemed to get lost in the smoldering embers of the fire.

Suddenly he perked up and gave her an appraising look, taking notice of her many manuscripts. "And where would we be going with all those books, Ms. Granger?" He gave her a wink. "On the hunt for more first years who are shirking their studies? Oh, the duties of being Head Girl…" He grinned at her, his eyes warm and kind.

Teasingly, Hermione stuck her tongue at him. Then she composed her face, her voice a mixture of caution and apology. "Actually, I'm on my way to the dungeons."

Harry raised his brows in surprise. "I thought you had finished with that."

She paused, trying to find a way to explain herself. She hadn't yet told Harry the extenuating circumstances surrounding that day or the fact that Snape had been discovered; she thought he might like her to keep that bit of information to herself.

"I talked to him, Harry. It was a misunderstanding. And yes, an overreaction on his part. But it's ok now, I promise." She looked at him earnestly. "He won't hurt me."

Harry sighed, running a hand through his already unruly hair. "As long as you're sure, Hermione. Just make sure there isn't a repeat performance, alright?"

Hermione looked at him gratefully. "Thanks for accepting this. Your support means a lot to me."

Harry shrugged. "You'll do what you think is best. I'm not going to try to change that. And I trust you to take care of yourself. Doesn't mean I won't worry though, does it?"

Hermione smiled. "And your worrying is much appreciated." She shifted, barely managing to keep her books afloat. "And on that note, I think I'd better get a move on before my arms start to give out."

Harry sank back into his seat, his spine conforming to the sinuous slant of the leather chair. "Watch yourself, Hermione. We all have to be careful now."

Hermione looked at him oddly for a moment. But her books, growing heavier by the minute, dissuaded her from asking what he meant. A parting smile accompanied a nod, and she started her way towards the dungeons.

* * *

A substantial spot of ink fell upon the parchment Severus was grading, blemishing an essay he thought could be made no worse. He cursed, crumpling the paper into a wrinkled sphere and tossing it next to its fellows, which were currently inhabiting a dark corner of the room and were sadly in much the same condition. Severus looked at the ever increasing pile, a twitch of his lips belying his amusement at the thought of returning the essays in their current state. Perhaps he would even let the demons locate their own papers amidst that mess.

He stretched his spine, leaning into his chair and then scowling when the back dug into his bones rather than offering him any relief. It was strange; he thought after years of secrecy, deceit, and stress, his body would be more than accepting of a bit of rest and repose. However, that was not the case, and he found the inertia now thrust upon him was only enhancing his usual amount of frustration.

But worse than the frustration was the distraction. And his current distraction had a name. _Granger_. He shook his head, willing his mind not to run through their last meeting, as it had already quite numerously done throughout the day. And the entirety of last night.

He hadn't expected her to come back after that frightful encounter they'd had after class. At the time, he had felt quite upset about it. She'd been kind to him on more than one occasion, and cruel though he may be, he knew she had not deserved such harsh treatment. He had gone to Dumbledore, hoping that he'd be disciplined for the wrong he'd committed against her. Instead he'd been sent back to his rooms with a kind order to calm down, the usual platitudes meant as a reassurance still ringing in his ears. Later, Severus had comforted himself by coming to the conclusion that it was for the best. He knew Ms. Granger certainly wouldn't be able to overlook his violent tendencies anymore; he thought she'd very much hate him. She would finish the rest of her year free from his unwarranted abuse and upon graduation hardly give him a second thought. The idea didn't comfort him as much as he'd have liked.

But Ms. Granger was ever the surprise. She'd done away with all of his expectations when she had walked through the door of his office. And he had _hated_ himself for wanting her to stay. But she had been quiet, unassuming, and her brown eyes held none of the traces of judgment that he knew he would have seen in anyone else's. And most importantly, she had seen his mark; she had touched him and been unafraid. And that meant more to him than he cared to admit.

The dungeons doors groaned in protest, and Severus' uncharacteristic scrutiny of his feelings was interrupted by the girl who had provoked them.

She was holding a considerable amount of books in her slight arms, still smiling although he noticed her fingers had turned white from their exertions.

"Good evening, Professor. I thought I'd work from some of the older potions books tonight. I thought it'd be rather interesting to see how they compare to what we've prepared in class, don't you think?"

She didn't wait for an answer, but turned to her work station, let her books down with a thud that echoed throughout the room, and went to the student cabinet to retrieve her ingredients.

This was most perplexing. While he had not expected her to return last night, even less had he expected her to return today. He frowned, staring at her small figure that so dedicatedly accomplished its tasks.

Yesterday, she told him she had come to him in order to forgive his acts of the previous day. That had made sense, and he'd accepted it. He understood that she had wanted to provide him with some kind of support. And hearing that he had been discovered had probably upset the girl. Severus looked at her appraisingly. She was rather…sensitive.

Furrowing his brow, he racked his mind, trying to come up with a reason as to why she should be here now with her armful of books and friendly smile. He was no longer a spy, and had no need of being cosseted by her. She required no practice in potions, and he needn't any protecting. No one had ever been successful in that department, he thought archly. Not even himself. Still, the only other option was that she _wanted_ to be here. With him. And that was an idea that was so absurd that it too must be dismissed. He tried sneering at the back of her head; instead he just managed a confused expression, which he promptly did away with, instead finding refuge among his papers once more.

Severus' mind began to drift, not even allowing him the comfort of first adding a red stain to the parchment in front of him. Throughout his life he made sure to cultivate qualities that would repel the warm sentiments of compassion that any might have dared to develop. Hadn't she noticed this? He thought his looks were more than enough a deterrent for most. And while Ms. Granger might be above judging a person from their exterior, his personality should have finished the job. For an intelligent girl, Ms. Granger was behaving rather densely.

Of course, her most dense behavior had been displayed when she had kissed him. He absentmindedly touched his cheek, bringing his fingers to the spot where her lips had made their passing appearance. Then remembering himself, he whipped his hand away from his face, trying to hide the symptoms of his bewilderment. He looked to see if she had noticed. She hadn't. She was currently chopping ginger root with uncommon gusto, her cheeks red from the activity, her curls bounding with her effort.

Granted, the kiss had been on the cheek and was probably more a gesture of good will than anything else. But she had _kissed _him. Severus frowned. That was most inappropriate of her to do. And even more inappropriate that he had allowed it. Of course, his excuse was that he had been paralyzed from shock. She had no such excuse.

Severus sighed, once again picking up his quill but not bothering to touch it to paper. There was a reason that he had a solitary life. When your very existence was in jeopardy on an almost daily basis, it was best not to make any attachments that might abruptly find their end. There had never been the occasion or the desire for friendship, excluding Dumbledore, of course. Neither had there been time for the chaste rapture of kisses upon his cheek.

In Severus' eyes, this train of thought was swiftly becoming a waste of his mental faculties. He was beginning to resent himself for allowing such thoughts to intrude upon what he thought was a finely honed mind. Even so, he could not begin treating Granger with causeless severity. He'd seen how well that had turned out. He was undecided really. Preoccupation with her odd attachment towards him was perhaps better than stewing in dismal disappointment over the loss of his utility in the war. His black eyes watched her intently as she brought her cauldron to a boil.

Yes, she could stay. She was not unpleasant. And truth be told, now that he no longer had the revels to engross him, he had remembered something that he'd long ago forgotten; he was lonely. So he would distract himself by helping her with potions. He was just a teacher now, after all. He might as well teach. With a sigh, Severus placed his quill back in its inkwell. There was no better time than the present.

* * *

Shuffling through the door to the tower, Hermione had a bright smile on her face despite the mess of books she once again carried with her. Snape had taken his usual spot at her side, and they had shared quite an agreeable evening together; she would almost describe it as _fun_. They had prepared those rather antiquated potions and had a most enjoyable time comparing them to their more contemporary counterparts. After her appalling lack of decorum the previous night, Hermione had not been sure of the welcome she would receive. But she supposed he had taken her consolation for what it was, and she had been quite happy not to face the rejection that she knew had been a real possibility. There was also the thought that maybe he had grown use to her company. Maybe he even liked her—as much as he could like anyone. He was professional as ever, but they'd still been able to work in relative comfort side by side.

The common room had cleared of all the rowdy persons that had been in attendance at tonight's soiree. Hermione felt sorry for the poor house elves who would have to clean the mess the children had left in the wake of their celebration. She looked around at the sticky mess that covered the floor and various tables. It was disgraceful, really. She stifled a yawn. Enough thought about house elves. She just wanted to climb into bed and go to sleep.

She was halfway to the staircase when she sensed a small movement out of the corner of her eye. Hermione smiled and approached the silent shadow.

"Harry? Why aren't you sleeping? It's really late."

He was still in his chair, slumped shoulders more pronounced, skin pale even in the healthy glow of the fire. He turned his face in her direction, and she suddenly noticed the dark circles under the eyes that stared back at hers.

"I just…can't," he whispered.

Hermione set her books down on one of the few unoccupied end tables, and then rested her body on the arm of Harry's chair. She put a cool hand to his forehead.

"You don't have a fever. Do you want me to get you some tea? It might help you to sleep."

"No!" he responded vehemently. He shoved her hand away, backing away from her visible concern.

With a few deep breaths he calmed, gathering enough strength to look at her wretchedly. "I'm sorry, Hermione. I just can't sleep right now. I'm…I'm going to go to my room." He rose from his seat and hurriedly returned to his rooms, leaving his friend to sit alone in a room filled with dirty dishes, shadows, and worries. And in that one moment, a small bit of the concern Hermione had felt for one man was aptly transferred to another.


	8. A Purpose

Chapter 8: A Purpose

They were two figures standing side by side; a boy and a girl. A clear and palpable tension hung between the two, although it was obvious this tension had its foundation neither in anger or that which spoke of romance. The boy exuded an obvious dread, whereas the girl seemed to have attained that certain level of peace that some experience when about to partake in a particularly unpleasant endeavor. Shoulders back and head resolute, her only frustration seemed to be the edgy individual beside her.

Ron nervously peered at Hermione, his body responding to its abundance of anxiety by shifting in a continuous, meaningless motion. His legs tread back and forth in an anticipatory pattern; it was sheer determination that kept him steadfast at his place. Hermione echoed his grim expectation with a quick quirk of the lips before raising her hand, readying herself for the confrontation that would no doubt result from the sound of her knuckles upon the heavy wooden door. But mid-motion her arm was intercepted by a much stronger one. Before she could make any contact, Ron had grasped her arm, wrenching it away from its purpose with an excess of force, more than likely a consequence of his nervous energy which lacked an outlet for release.

"Are you sure this is really necessary, Hermione? You know that he gets like this sometimes. He's got a lot of responsibility on his shoulders..." He was lost in thought for moment, and then recovered. "I'm sure he's fine. Maybe you're overreacting." Argument weak, tone unsure—even _he_ didn't sound like he believed what he was saying.

Hermione sighed, placing her hands on her hips as she turned to face him. "Look, Ron. I don't want to bother Harry either. But I also don't want to neglect him; especially if he's in need of help. He hasn't been sleeping, he's complaining of headaches...he's not himself. And I'm just…I'm worried," she finished unhappily.

Ron sighed, sinking onto the carpeted floor beneath him. "I just don't want to intrude, you know?"

Hermione took a place beside him on the ground. "Neither do I."

They sat there for a long while, trying to build up the courage to confront their sullen friend. As Hermione waited, she came to notice a small brown spider making its way across the opposing wall. She watched it crawl from surface to surface, leaving an almost imperceptible thread in its wake. She wished that she could just sit there all day; be the spectator to its weaving skills and acrobatic feats. Instead, she needed to be the pushy Granger girl. She glanced at her left towards Ron. He was staring at the spider too, and she would bet their thoughts were probably similarly aligned as well. He didn't want her to be the pushy Granger girl either. Hermione smirked.

They had not yet made an effort to move when the door they had balked at flew open, and they were met with the confused outline of their friend, whose brilliant green eyes took note of their surprise.

"What are you two doing?" Harry stared down at them. He didn't seem angry. More than anything, he looked taken aback at their odd behavior.

Hermione and Ron hastened to collect themselves; Hermione did a better job of it, as Ron guiltily stared down at his shoes.

Giving the red head next to her an accusing stare, Hermione confessed, "We've come to see if you're alright." She thought Harry deserved that bit of honesty; it was better not to give any silly excuses. He was far too dear a friend for dishonesty to be acceptable.

Harry looked at them, annoyed only for a moment before yielding. "Alright. You may as well come in then." He retreated to the confines of his room, and Ron and Hermione shared another look before following him.

Harry remained standing, but Hermione took a seat on the embroidered coverlet atop his bed so as not to appear threatening. She motioned for Ron to follow. When they were both seated, she looked up at Harry, concern shining through her eyes.

"Harry, what's wrong? Ron and I are worried about you. You've been acting differently lately. So…troubled. Can you tell us why you aren't sleeping?" Her voice had gone up a notch, desperation tingeing her inquiry.

Harry stared at them, indecision written across his face. His fingers tangled among themselves, and he squeezed his eyes together tightly. Then he let out a long, hard sigh, sinking into the chair next to him. He clasped his hands together and raised his head to meet the two sets of expectant eyes fixed upon him.

"It's the dreams. They're back."

* * *

Severus watched in consternation as Hermione haphazardly supplied her cauldron with some rather combustible ingredients, she in turn making no attempt to restrain the speed of her activities. He grimaced as he took in the excessive zeal of her stirring and the irregularity with which she turned the pages of her text. He frowned. She truly had no gift for subtlety; the girl was obviously upset. Although, he thought, perhaps he should appreciate the fact that she didn't feel the need to hide this upset from him. Or maybe she was too distressed to care. Either way, it was unfair for her cauldron to take the brunt of her distress.

Severus approached Hermione, gently removing the pestle she had been wielding so wildly. She looked up at him, surprised by his sudden appearance.

"Professor?"

Snape just stared at her mortar, his eyebrow raised meaningfully.

Hermione looked at him, confused. She followed his eyes to her hands, which had still not stopped their frenzied movement. "Oh!" Her hands stilled and she looked in shock at the too finely ground root which had lost all traces of its former condition.

"Ms. Granger, would you care to tell me why you are beating the fluxweed into such a fine powder? Or perhaps I should congratulate you. You've managed to convert a rather expensive ingredient into utter rubbish." He sneered as he emptied the mortar with a quick flick of his wand.

Hermione looked up at him apologetically. "I'm sorry, Professor. I know you hate to waste ingredients." She stared at her empty mortar for a moment, seeming to make a decision. She took her time choosing her next words.

"I'm a bit…distracted right now. It might be a good idea for me to take a break from potions. Just for tonight."

She didn't meet his eyes, but instead began to gather up her belongings in order to leave.

Severus stared at her, watching her nervous bundle of energy. He willed himself to let her leave, not to expose the concern which had become visible in the furrow between his eyes.

He heard his own voice, awkward at the same time trying desperately to convey a tone of disinterest. "Ms. Granger…might I ask what is troubling you?" He saw her stunned expression and attempted to cover it. "Perhaps you might amuse me with your tale of woe. A sort of…repayment…for my wasted ingredients?" She had a disappointed look on her face at his last sentence, and Severus instantly regretted its addition to their conversation.

"I'm sure it's nothing that you'd be interested, Professor. In fact, I'm _sure_ you won't want to hear about it." She said the words with conviction, and even a hint of bitterness.

Severus raised an eyebrow, watching as she continued to compile the mess of papers that had descended upon her work station. He thought she'd be rather unhappy to know her tone had only further garnered his attention. Silkily, he replied "Lately I find myself with very little…diversion. I'd appreciate it you'd let me decide what will hold my interest."

Hermione looked up from her papers and met his gaze, gauging the sincerity of his words. The truth was, she was troubled. She didn't think sharing with Snape was the best idea she'd ever had. But currently Ron had exhausted all of his usefulness. She examined Snape's face, taking in its dips, crags, and the eyes that stared so readily into hers. And then for some reason, she felt better. She trusted him.

"It's Harry." She shot Severus a warning look, daring him to utter the distaste that had encamped between his eyes upon hearing that particular name.

Severus restrained himself, but felt the little bit of tension he'd been nursing turn into an instant headache at the mere mention of that boy. "And what about _Mr. Potter_?"

Hermione sighed and carefully took a seat on her bench. Placing her elbows on the table and leaning forward, she stared into Severus' eyes.

"He's been having these dreams…disturbing dreams. And he's really worried that—"

Frowning, Severus interrupted with a scornful voice. "I assure you, Ms. Granger, Potter is not the only one to experience nightmares. I would think he would have grown out of taking them so seriously."

Hermione glared at him, her anger loosening her tongue. "They are not just nightmares! They're about _him_. Voldemort. And Harry says they are very real; prescient maybe. He's only had them for the past few days, but he hasn't been able to sleep." She took a deep breath and then lowered her voice. "He said he has seen terrible things. Harry wouldn't even describe them to me…" Her voice trailed off, and she looked down at her hands which were gripping the sides of the table.

Severus' eyes narrowed, and unknowingly he drew closer to her. "Have you spoken to anyone about this?"

Hermione shook her head. "I just found out today. And Harry doesn't want to talk about it. He's scared. I think those dreams are making his situation even more real for him. Since the end of our fifth year, he's been dreading the day when—" Her voice broke then, and she lowered her head into her hands despairingly.

There was silence for a while; it was so quiet she became aware of the sound of Snape's intakes of breath intermingling with her own.

"Ms. Granger, you must speak with Dumbledore."

Hermione nodded in affirmation. "I know. I was going to go tomorrow. Hopefully I can drag Harry with me." She shook her head helplessly. "I just wish there was something that I could do. I don't think this can be fixed with a simple dreamless draught."

Snape bestowed upon her a small smile. "Even I must admit that potions cannot cure all wounds." Hermione gave him a sad look.

"This has been a most interesting conversation, Ms. Granger." He drew closer to her, his voice a whisper that brushed through her hair. "I too have felt unsettled as of late. He glanced down at his arm meaningfully. I thought it was just my…discontent…at the current state of things," he gestured towards the dungeons, "and Voldemort's particular brand of vindictiveness that caused my mark burn. But after what you've just told me…I think there might be more to this than first meets the eye."

Hermione gave him a fearful look. "You don't think his dreams are real, do you? I've never been one to believe in all that prophetic nonsense."

Snape looked at her. "I'm afraid I have no answer to that Ms. Granger. Yet."

Hermione gave him a curious look, but he drew away from her and she had no time to question him as to what he meant.

"I believe you were correct when you said you needed a rest from potions. Get some sleep, Ms. Granger. Tomorrow I want you to bring _Potter _with you to Dumbledore." He couldn't help keeping the dislike from his voice. "Tell him everything. In the meanwhile, I will seek out our answers in… other venues."

Hermione looked concerned then, her mouth opening to question him. Severus knew that look. Interrupting her before she had the chance to continue, he put on his most authoritative voice. "Go to bed, Ms. Granger."

She met his eyes, and found some assurance there that Severus had not even meant to give. She nodded, finally collecting her papers that were spread across the desk. She made her way to the door, and then turned around, searching for the right words to say.

Severus looked at her pale face and nodded. Words were not needed. She met his eyes and nodded back before finally retiring to her rooms.

As soon as the door closed, Severus reached for his cloak and made preparation to leave. What the girl had told him was serious; he certainly knew he should be feeling no happiness because of it. But the past few days had been misery for him. Now he could leave; he had a purpose. He smiled, realizing that perhaps he was not as useless as he had deemed himself to be. Severus grabbed hold of his wand and a few essential instruments before heading towards the exit; without even a parting look he stalked out of the room. The door slammed closed with a resounding bang that echoed in the empty dungeon.


	9. A Meeting

Chapter 9: A Meeting

Hermione took a sidelong glance to her left as she feigned interest in the cover of a dusty manuscript lying atop Dumbledore's desk. Discreet as it may have been, her look of concern was instantly recognized and returned by an unmistakable scowl and further hunching into a chair. Hermione sighed and averted her eyes, bringing them to rest upon her hands which had taken to twisting her robes into messy, rumpled contortions. She had to admit, seeing Harry sitting sulky and small in that overstuffed chair was cause enough for her to feel the pangs of guilt, even though she knew her actions were entirely justifiable. Hermione had spent a good portion of the previous night trying to come up with a happy alternative to this unsolicited assembly, but had come to realize…there was none. It had taken her the entire day to convince Harry of his responsibility. Looking at him now, she recognized he was not entirely convinced. She had first tried to be caring and understanding in her persuasion, but had found it necessary to resort to the standard methods of prodding and bossing in order for him to comply with her demands. Needless to say, he had not been pleased. But even with the frustration Harry had given her, she couldn't be angered. Hermione took another subtle look in his direction. She understood him more than he knew.

Dumbledore had known they were coming, it seemed. The stairs had greeted them as usual, and although the headmaster himself was not yet present, there had been three chairs in formation before his desk, waiting for their occupants. Harry now sat between Hermione and Ron in a most uncomfortable sandwich. Ron peered over Harry's bowed head and gave Hermione a look of open-eyed helplessness. Hermione quirked her lips in acknowledgment.

She was so tired, and life was so hard. It seemed to her as soon as she had stepped into the wizarding world her life had become a series of misadventures, each laced with their own set of deadly obstacles. She had spent the past seven years watching the children around her too soon leave behind the innocence of childhood, only to be met with the harsh realities that always accompanied war. She wished she could spare them that. She wished she could spare _herself _that. But she knew from experience such wishes were only an exercise in futility. Still, it wasn't right. The path to adulthood is already fraught with numerous brambles and thorns. One did not need a Dark Lord to complete the triangle.

She moved about uncomfortably in her chair, hoping that Dumbledore would hurry with whatever he was doing and take control of the situation. It had been more than difficult to ensure Harry's presence there tonight. With Dumbledore's excessive tardiness, she was uncertain how long her friend could be kept waiting.

It seemed the same thoughts were running through Harry's mind. She saw a flicker of impatience overpower his obvious irritation, and what she thought was a restless shift of his body was actually him rising from his seated position.

He stood tall, glowering at Hermione while addressing her in as commanding a tone as he could manage. "That's it, Hermione. I've waited here for twenty minutes now. Obviously Dumbledore doesn't think any of this to be important, and I agree with him. You are overreacting. Which is very like you," he added spitefully. "I'm leaving."

Hermione felt a sense of panic rise to here throat. She knew that if need be she could convince Dumbledore to track Harry down. But they were here, and the information needed to come out _now_. She opened her mouth to argue, but was surprised as another figure stood up next to Harry, effectively blocking his sole path to freedom.

"I'm sorry, Harry. But you need to do this. Dumbledore will be here soon. You have to sit down and wait."

Ron didn't budge from his spot; it was obvious he was going nowhere. Harry glared at his long time best friend, assessing if an argument would be worth his while. Ron's shoulders were squared, his expression resolute. There would be no help found there. Harry turned his head to look at Hermione. Her eyes were begging him to stay even if her words were not. It was evident his friends would not let this go until he did fulfilled his 'duty'. Harry sank back down in his seat, arms crossed in silent protest. Hermione looked at Ron with a mixture of pride and gratitude. It was a comfort that she didn't have to do this alone.

They'd been seated for only a few minutes longer when Dumbledore finally made his appearance, purple robes trailing behind him. His usual carefree countenance seemed to have been exchanged for a much more serious one. There was no smile on his face, and for once Hermione did not expect an offer of lemon drops. Taking his seat, Dumbledore placed his hands on either side of his desk before speaking in soft, serious tones.

"Children, I understand this is not a social call. Therefore with my regret, we will skip the usual pleasantries."

Ron and Hermione looked at each other in surprise, while Dumbledore disregarded then both and turned to Harry.

"I have been led to believe that you wish to discuss something with me, Harry."

"I don't _wish_ it, Professor. I've been _forced_ to come here, to tell you something that probably doesn't even warrant your attention."

Hermione let out a snort at that statement, and Harry turned his head to glare at her.

"Be that as it may, Harry, Ron and Hermione believe what you have to say is of some importance. They have been your friends for these many years. Have you not trusted their judgment before?"

Heavy silence then filled the room; Harry's conflict was plain to see, his expression wavering between fear and reason. It was a hard battle, but reason emerged triumphant. He met the headmaster's gaze with steady, saddened eyes.

"The dreams have come back." He spoke the words softly, looking pained to speak them. Dumbledore's countenance did not change, so Harry continued if only to get a reaction for his audience.

"They were disturbing…and at first I thought they might mean something. I couldn't sleep; I was too busy looking for signs, expecting the worst…But it has been over a week now, and nothing bad has happened. Which is why I'm sure I was overreacting."

"Will you be more specific about the dreams, Harry?"

Harry sighed, running his hands through his hair in frustration. "Fine!" he exclaimed. "I've been dreaming about Voldemort." He looked at Hermione and then Ron. "I didn't tell you two this part. I saw him. _Here_."

"What do you mean, _here_?" asked Ron, his face a mixture of confusion and concern.

"I mean, he was here…at Hogwarts. He was strutting about like he owned the place. He was in this office. And the Great Hall too. And I could feel what he felt. He was…he was _ecstatic_ about something. I just don't know about what," he said miserably.

Dumbledore looked at Harry severely. "What else did you see?"

Harry shook his head. "Just Voldemort. The rooms that I saw him in were empty. He didn't say anything, and there was no one else around."

Dumbledore's fingers curled into his fists as he leaned further across his desk. "You remember nothing else?"

"Just the way he felt…like he was really proud of himself. Like he just accomplished something. That's what worried me. Something truly terrible would have to happen for him to be so pleased, wouldn't it?"

Dumbledore bobbed his head in agreement, staring pensively at his desk. Then he raised his eyes to meet the green ones focused upon him.

"I am glad you came to me, Harry. You are fortunate to have such devoted friends. During times like these, we must appreciate them even more so." Dumbledore nodded at the two on either side of him. "I must tell you, I believe there is something to your dreams. And I have the suspicion you feel the same as well."

Harry looked guiltily at his shoes.

Dumbledore continued, "Your connection to Voldemort is regrettable, but at the moment it is also our only advantage. That said, we do not have enough information to act upon. Of course we will raise our guard—but that is all we can do. You saw Voldemort here; yet that could mean a number of things. He is certainly not here now, nor do I believe he is foolish enough to attack Hogwarts itself. The wards cannot be breached whilst I am here."

There was a long pause as the trio attempted to digest what they'd just heard.

Hermione stood up. She had been listening in silence, not wanting to interrupt the important dialogue between Harry and Dumbledore. But this passivity infuriated her. She had not fought and possibly alienated her friend for this sort of apathy.

"Sir, you can't possibly mean that! Harry just told you some potentially _vital_ information, and you've essentially decided to do nothing!" Hermione's voice was raised; had it been any other conversation she would have experienced extreme mortification at addressing a professor so. As it was, she could hardly contain her fury.

"Ms. Granger, I understand your frustration. Believe me when I tell you it is the same frustration that I myself face. I will look into the matter as best I can. But remember, I no longer have ears among Voldemorts' men." He looked at Hermione gravely. "You must understand, Ms. Granger, I cannot let Voldemort disrupt our way of life. I won't have it."

"He _is_ disrupting our lives, whether you would have it or not." Hermione spit the words out venomously. "We cannot just sit by and wait for something to happen. We have to take measures to protect ourselves. To protect our friends." She looked over at Harry, willing him to forgive as well as understand.

"I'm afraid she is right, Albus." A deep, gravelly voice came from behind Hermione. She turned around and saw the worn face of Severus Snape. He had quietly entered the crowded room and had taken a place of silent support next to the militant, animated Hermione.

She turned and looked up at his dark figure. He was rumpled and dirty, the shadows under his eyes attesting to the fact that he'd had no sleep since she'd left him the previous night. Hermione had never been so happy to see him. A small smiled appeared in place of the frown she'd just been wearing.

"Unfortunately, I've come into some information that has relevance to Mr. Potter's dreams. It's serious, Albus; we're dealing with a mad man. It seems that—"

"Harry, Ron, Hermione…will you excuse us please?" Dumbledore interjected, looking at them pointedly.

"But Professor Snape just said it had to do with Harry's dreams! We have a right to hear what he has to say." Hermione stared reproachfully at her headmaster. Not for the first time, she felt hints of resentment well up towards his person.

Snape came closer to Hermione and laid a heavy hand on her shoulder. "Patience, Ms. Granger." He looked at her, no sign of threat in his voice. Instead, his eyes were filled with exhaustion and a silent request for her compliance.

Hermione bit her lip, practically choking on her resignation.

Harry, who had been aching to leave in the first place, was quick to follow Dumbledore's orders. He needed no further urging and filed wordlessly out of the room, trailed by a reluctant Ron who glanced back questioningly when Hermione didn't follow. She looked at Severus once more.

"Later," he said firmly.

Hermione nodded in submission, leaving the two men to whisper their dark secrets, envious of the books and unhearing walls that remained to be their audience.


	10. A Wound

Chapter 10: A Wound

It was with great impatience that the trio found themselves waiting on the outskirts of the heavy wooden door leading to Dumbledore's office. Although the boys had seemingly bolted from the room, they'd had the decency to wait for their friend, who'd taken a more leisurely pace. However, they soon questioned that course of action when Hermione convinced them that this was as good a place as any to hear Severus' news. Ron, who would have preferred to go to dinner, objected that when Snape had said "later", it was meant as a dismissal, not a promise. Hermione shot him a dirty look, and that had been the end of his protestations. She had haughtily taken a seat in the middle of the cold stone bench beside the door, and the boys flanked her on either side. There they sat in silence. It was a good fifteen minutes before Harry found nerve enough to speak.

Hermione sensed his body turning to face her, and she brushed the random strands of hair away from her face in order to see him properly.

Earnestly Harry addressed her, warm brown eyes meeting ones green and repentant. "I'm sorry, Hermione. I've been acting like a heel. You were right, my dreams _were_ important. It's just…I didn't want them to be." He finished the sentence apologetically.

Hermione smiled at Harry, forgiveness shining in her face. "It's ok, Harry, I understand. I want you to know, I would never do anything to upset you unless I knew it was for the best."

Harry nodded, grabbing hold of Hermione's hand and let his fingers twine with her own. She gave him a squeeze, their joined hands coming to rest on her lap.

Ron rolled his eyes dramatically at the utter sweetness of the gesture. "Oh, isn't that darling," he teased, a glimmer of mischief in his eyes.

Extricating himself from Hermione's grip, Harry pretended to lunge for his friend, who laughingly ducked out of the way.

Harry shook his head amusedly and sank down next to Hermione. He sighed, intently staring at the door closed in firm resolution.

"So when do you think they'll be done in there?" he asked hopelessly.

"Who knows? Dumbledore dismissed us rather quickly. Maybe he'll do the same to old Snape in there. I know I would." Ron chuckled at his weak joke, looking surprised when his two friends made no effort to join in his fun. He leaned back into the wall, trying to get comfortable while at the same time muttering under his breath about the sadness of those whose lives had been untouched by humor.

They sat in stony silence for a while. It was with sheer boredom that Ron examined the floor, the bit of his shoe that extended from his robes, and then the robes themselves. Tiring of that, he looked at Harry—first casually, then curiously. "Hey Harry, what's that on your hand?" he asked uncertainly.

"What?" Harry glanced down at his hand. It was stained in a deep rusty red, much of it localized in his palms, but spread across a good portion of the top of his hand as well.

"It's blood!" Harry exclaimed. He held his hand out before him in shock.

Harry looked to Hermione's lap, trying to locate the place where his hand had rested just a few moments before. "Hermione, are you ok?"

Eyes wide, she shook head vehemently. "It's not mine!" She stood up, examining herself. She brought her fingers to her side, feeling around her robes. The cloth was damp.

Ron raked his eyes up and down her small frame, searching for some unseen wound. "There's some on your foot too."

Hermione looked down, and sure enough, there were small droplets of blood glistening from her shoe.

She shook her head again, whispering softly as she brought her eyes to stare at a solid, impassive door. "It's not mine."

* * *

"I'm sure he's fine, Hermione." Harry patted her on the back comfortingly. "He looked fine, didn't he, Ron?" When no immediate answer was given, Harry convincingly kicked him in the shin.

Rubbing his leg ruefully, Ron dutifully responded, "Yes, yes, I'm sure he's fine." Then he added, "I don't get it, though. He's never been our favorite professor, has he? What are you so worried about him for?"

Hermione turned her head to glare at him. "I just am, alright?"

Harry warningly shook his head at Ron, who got the hint and remained quiet.

They sat that way for a long while. Ron fidgeted nervously and Hermione fretted with Harry's arm about her. It seemed forever before the door slid open, the two much anticipated men making no detour as they came to a halt in front of the students.

Severus entered the room first. His eyes resting on the three, his brow raising slightly at the sight of Hermione's stricken face. It arched more decidedly when noticing the location of Harry's arm.

Dumbledore stood in front of the group. "I would like you three to return to Gryffindor Tower now. I'm afraid that Professor Snape and I have yet to come to a satisfactory decision regarding this turn of events." Taking a look at Hermione, he assured her, "I will let you know when that decision has been made."

Hermione shook her head, all thoughts of activism promptly forgotten. She drew next to Snape, completely disregarding Dumbledore's words.

"Are you hurt?" she asked him softly.

Severus looked surprised, backing away slightly as Hermione showed him an outstretched hand—one stained in blood.

Disconcerted, he stammered, "I'm…I'm sorry, Ms. Granger. I assure you, I am fine. It is just a flesh wound."

Hermione frowned further, letting her hand run across the side of his robe— the part of his body that had been so close to her in Dumbledore's office.

Severus jerked back, but it was too late. Hermione's hands vacated the folds of his robes freshly coated in blood. The cloth was such a dark black that the vivid, red liquid had been invisible to those around him. She stared in horror at her now blood brightened skin.

Dumbledore looked at Severus sharply. "I didn't realize you were so injured, Severus. You must report to the Infirmary at once."

Severus stood tall, glaring at Dumbledore's concern. "I've no need for nursing, Albus. I'm fine." He crossed his arms in stubborn rejection of the order.

Dumbledore patted Severus indulgently on the back. "Be that as it may, I'm sure we will all feel better when you get this taken care of." He took notice of Hermione, who was still staring down at her hand. "Ms. Granger, would you accompany Professor Snape to see Madame Pomfrey?"

Severus gave Dumbledore a fierce look of indignation. "Am I such an invalid that I cannot go to the Infirmary of my own accord?"

Not wishing to waste time on pointless bickering, Hermione grabbed Severus' hand before he could complain any further. With a scathing last glance to his superior, Severus allowed himself to be dragged to the nurse's office by a fiercely determined Hermione Granger.

* * *

Severus had never cared to demonstrate to the public any of his possible weaknesses, physical or otherwise. By the time he and Hermione had neared the Infirmary, Severus had displayed a rapid burst of energy as he stalked his way to their destination; Hermione was pratically at full jog in order to keep up with the way his long strides cut across the stone floor.

Passing through the entranceway, Snape's robes viciously snapped about his ankles. "Poppy!" he roared. Hermione glanced about the vacant room, noticing a note lying atop the nurse's station. She picked it up and read.

"Madame Pomfrey is with a student who is having some sort of…crisis. It says she'll be back soon." Hermione neatly placed the paper back on the counter.

Severus sneered. "Well, Ms. Granger, I have no intention of waiting for Poppy, not when there is so much that must be done." He made his way to the door. "I followed the Headmaster's wishes; I came. That should satisfy you." With a few rapid paces he covered half the distance to the exit before coming to an abrupt halt.

Taking cue from Ron's previous example, Hermione had darted directly in the path of his escape route, arms held out on either side to further prevent him. "No, I'm not satisfied! You're hurt and you needed to be treated. Do you think you can help anyone if you're bleeding to death?"

Snape towered over her, striking even more an opposing figure than usual. "Don't try me, Ms.Granger," he hissed threateningly.

Hermione stood defiantly, hands on her hips. "You're not leaving until you are treated. You said it's just a flesh wound. If you refuse to wait for Madame Pomfrey, let me do it. I know she has a good stock of your healing potion. Let me apply it, and then we can leave."

Snape's dark eyes shot daggers at her, but he made no further movement towards the door. Taking this as acceptance, she urged, "Well, shouldn't you be sitting down?"

Snape gave her another fierce look before heading towards the bed. He examined it for a moment, pausing slightly. He eased himself onto the soft surface with just the faintest cringe, barely perceptible to anyone who didn't know him.

Hermione furrowed her brow, her anger instantly vanishing.

She snapped out of Snape watching and made her way to the large, brown cabinet in which Madame Pomfrey kept her potions. She easily located the correct bottle and took several strips of white cloth as well.

Hermione walked over to Severus and took a seat on the stool near his bed. He was sitting there, uncomfortable and stiff looking. Oh, but he was being stubborn. She could tell he wasn't going to make this easy for her.

"I suppose you'll need to take your clothes off," she said unfeelingly.

Hermione knew exactly how that sounded, and at the moment she didn't care enough to come up with something less provocative. Perhaps it was best to scare him into submission.

Severus hesitated before bringing agile fingers to his buttons—they were quickly undone. He shrugged off his jacket and the shirt beneath. Hermione saw pale skin marred by the sporadic scar. He was thin; not painfully so, but enough to easily discern the muscle beneath the skin. Hermione's attentions to his form did not last long. Instead she was instantly drawn to the rose-red wound that flowered at his side. She felt her eyes unconsciously fill with tears, all the while aware that Severus was watching her.

"It's just a flesh wound, Ms. Granger." The words were said in almost a comforting tone, though they did little to ease what plagued her.

"It doesn't look like it to me," she said bitterly.

They were quiet for a minute before Severus snapped them out of their reverie.

"Are you going to get to it, then?"

"Lay down," she ordered.

Snape seemed to have decided to stop fighting her; surprisingly enough, he obeyed. He eased himself onto his side, almost curling into the fetal position. Hermione looked at him thoughtfully; she had never seen him so vulnerable. His black hair draped across the pillow was a stark contrast to the white linen. He lay with his body before her, trusting she would do no to harm it.

The longer she looked, the more nervous Hermione became. She watched as her hands made the long journey towards his side, shaking slightly as they did so. She had just barely touched his skin when he spastically jerked away.

"What is it? I barely even touched you!" she exclaimed, both worried and reproachful.

"Your hands are cold," he said defensively.

Hermione smirked. He'd certainly relieved the tension, at least for a bit. "Yes, sorry about that. I've always had cold hands," she lied.

She rubbed her hands together, pretending the friction would warm them sufficiently. Truth be told, her hands were quite warm from all her nerves. She brought them to his side once more, trying as gently as possible to assess the damage. She felt a surge of anger towards whoever had done this to him. She had so many questions. Who had hurt him? Where had he been? _What_ was his news? But as she looked at him, lying so still but for his steady intake of breath, she realized now was not the right time. It was a time for healing, not an interrogation.

She spoke softly as she worked. "That was an awfully lot of blood you lost for just a flesh wound."

Severus remained motionless and unresponsive.

"You were right though. You'll be fine."

Hermione opened up the bottle of solution and doused the cloth. Gently, she began brushing the sterilized material across Snape's wound. He made a little sound of pain as his skin sizzled, even as it began to heal.

Hermione leaned her head very close to his skin, softly blowing upon it, watching goose bumps erupt from the sensation of her cool breath upon his hot flesh.

"What are you doing?" he asked roughly.

Hermione smiled slightly. "When I was little, that's how my mother used to take care of me. She always used peroxide on all my cuts and scrapes. When she had those little cotton balls in her hands I wouldn't let her come near me unless she promised she'd blow on it after—took away the sting."

Hermione began again to rub the healing balm gently over his quickly fading injury. The skin was healed now, but needed to be rubbed for a few more minutes to have the full effect.

The room was quiet and still. Because there were no words exchanged between them, Hermione became aware that her breathing had synchronized with the rise and fall of Severus' chest. She stopped her motions and tenderly whispered, "All done." Snape turned over onto his back and searched her face. She didn't look at him, but stared at the spot where his wound had been. She allowed her thumb to delicately brush across the now healed skin. "There's not even a scar," she murmured. Hermione looked up and met his eyes. "You can be so stupid sometimes, do you know that?" The words were said with tears filled eyes.

A curious look passed over Severus' face, and he slowly brought his hand to cover hers, which still rested comfortably on his torso. They stared into each other's eyes, and Hermione heard her heart thundering in her ears.

"And how is our patient?" Dumbledore slowly made his way into the room, regarding the two in front of him with an amused expression in his eyes.

Severus sat up quickly and reached for his shirt, the buttons done with more than excessive speed. Hermione sat back, watching as he donned his clothing, essentially transforming back into the man feared by so many.

"He's fine, Headmaster. Madame Pomfrey wasn't here, but I was able to apply the balm without a problem."

"Very good, Ms. Granger. I have some news for you. Severus was able to come across some…helpful information in his travels. It seems Harry's dreams, while perhaps not prescient, were indeed quite telling as to Voldemort's intentions." Dumbledore looked sadly at Severus before continuing. "It seems the realization that one of his most trusted betrayed him has caused Voldemort to go against any reason he may have possessed. He never cared to be made the fool." Dumbledore shook his head. "He believes he has found a way to bypass the wards. He plans to storm Hogwarts."

Hermione glanced from Dumbledore to Severus in confusion.

"So what are we going to do?" she asked in a small voice.

Dumbledore looked to Severus seriously, nodding as if to confirm some previous agreement. "We will evacuate Hogwarts."

There was silence, but those four words seemed to echo throughout the Infirmary, effectively drowning any small noises that might else have been heard. Hermione's rapidly beating heart suddenly felt as if it had stopped beating altogether. She had been through so much over the past few years, yet suddenly the war seemed so much closer than it ever had before.

"It is merely a safety precaution; we do not know if Severus' informant was entirely accurate. But the safety of the students is our primary concern."

Harry and Ron strode into the Infirmary, arriving at the very tail end of Dumbledore's words.

"Did you hear?" Hermione asked.

Ron nodded, and Harry looked at her. "Dumbledore told us. But not all of us are leaving."

Hermione gazed in surprise at Harry. "But I thought you didn't want this. That you were afraid to—"

Harry took a step forward. "I _am_ afraid. But this is Hogwarts. It's our home." He stood tall, unshed tears glistening in his eyes. "That man took my family. I won't let him take our home."

Ron came to stand next to Harry. "Neither will I."

Hermione stood from her stool, slipping from Severus' side to join Harry and Ron in an unbound triangle. "Neither will I," she vowed softly.

There they stood—the bonds of camaraderie, determination and love uniting them. Harry, Ron and Hermione didn't see the pride flashing in Dumbledore's aged eyes. Nor did they see the look of fear in Severus' as he gazed at Hermione.


	11. A Wish

Chapter 11: A Wish

Severus stood stock still in the center of the over crowded hallway, taking in the outrageous picture before him. Dumbledore had wasted no time sending the children home. They were everywhere; littering the floors, jostling about, some sucking in great mouthfuls of air as they sobbed their parting farewells. The litany of sniffles irritated him, as did the sound of those students too dense to levitate their travel bags. The dragging sound of the valises upon the floor was grating to the nerves, although in their overwrought state perhaps it was best that there were only a small number of hovering cases to watch out for. The great arched ceilings could barely contain the floating baggage as it was. He fully expected an accident to occur, some unfortunate soul's rumpled clothing to rain upon them in a torrent of socks and underthings.

Rudely jostled from behind, Severus turned to glare at a tiny first year whose arms were overflowing with an assortment of clothes and books. She muttered an apology, not bothering to look up at the black wall of cloth with which she had collided. He watched her body diminish as it further made its way into the hall, melding into the mess of rustling robes, howling familiars and steep mountains of personal belongings. For once the students seemed to be paying his dark figure little attention. Severus supposed it was just as well. At the moment they had greater things to fear then the wrath of their potions master. Albus had seen to that quite nicely.

He had been rather pleased at the Headmaster's announcement of evacuation; it had not been turned into an excuse for student coddling. Severus had quite expected their eviction to be masked by some absurd excuse of renovation or newly established holiday. However, it seemed that soothing the children had not been on Albus' agenda, which truth be told was rather full at present. He had been quite frank with them—his words simple but serious. However, it seemed that the acknowledgement of such nearby danger had sent the little blighters into quite an upheaval. Poppy was currently trying to assuage those in the most amount of distress by plying them with ample doses of potion and pats on the back.

Severus glared as a suitcase went whizzing by his head at uncommon speed. Where was she? He scanned the hall again. Although looking for one specific person in this great heap of humanity was perhaps an exercise in futility, he thought her massive amount of hair might have facilitated his search. As it was, he'd had no sight of her, and was instead being tormented by the company of sniveling little creatures who were miserably failing to respect his personal space.

He scowled, surveying the room once more as he readied to leave. He'd have gone had his eyes not caught hold of that shock of red hair bobbing amongst the rest. Severus grimaced, wishing he had left before he'd sealed his fate. Teeth clenched tightly, he cut through the throng in angry strides, children leaping out of the way so as not to be trampled.

Ron, arms heavily laden as he helped a fellow student with his books, opened his eyes wide as he saw a unmistakably irritated Severus Snape stalking in his direction. Severus came to rest directly in front of Ron, consequently blocking the boy's view of the surrounding commotion.

"Mr. Weasley."

"Yes, Sir?" Ron shifted uncomfortably, trying to balance his burden.

Severus eyed the boy doubtfully, anticipating the tower of books to come crashing down about their feet.

"I have been trying to locate Ms. Granger, but have found it…difficult…Do you know where she is?"

"No." The response came quickly, barely a breath in between Ron's words and those of his professor.

Realizing he would receive no help from the boy, Severus sneered and pivoted, a step already leading him away from this madness. Before the second step was taken, he heard above the clamor a heavy sigh.

"Professor?" Snape turned around, eyebrow raised.

"I might try the library." Ron looked his professor directly in the eye, before heading towards Creevey, who seemed to delight in taking pictures of his crying companions, exclaiming something about "publication" as his camera nauseatingly flashed an irregular, bright light. Severus stared after Ron for a moment, wondering at his change of mind. Deciding it was not worth the effort, Severus hurriedly pushed through the bodies in his path, taking the shortest and most direct route to the library. As he made his way past the last few patches of students, he breathed a sigh of relief.

* * *

As he strode towards the library Severus heard his footsteps echo in the vacant passageway—all too slowly in his opinion. Time was of the essence. There was no hesitation as his arms reached out to push open the heavy doors, his feet only gaining momentum as he entered the now abandoned room. It was poorly lit in this section of the castle, and as opposed to the horrors of the first floor, utterly emptied and silent. He stilled for a moment, his eyes searching for the small shape he expected to be consorting with the books or hiding behind some darkened shelf. His first glance fruitless, he strode towards the back of the library, his eyes detecting a faint glow that grew stronger with each passing step.

A moment later he turned a corner, and there she was. As he had expected, she was partially obscured by the shadows that danced upon the walls around her, partially hidden by antique, hardbound volumes. His eyes skimmed over the dusty, browning tomes heaped in clusters. It seemed this was an area of the library that Madame Pince had not yet finished shelving. Books lay discarded about them in chaos, though preferable to the type he had just fled. Severus drew closer, not announcing his presence—just watching her. Her slight fingers were absentmindedly hovering above the pages of a thick text, just barely grazing the paper. She shifted in her seat, her eyes squinting slightly as she finally turned the page. The abundant hair he'd searched for was a knot of curls, amber in the candle light. Her robe was resting on the back of her chair; she sat in skirt and jumper, both rumpled.

He cleared his throat, the deep rumble reaching her ears. Brushing back her mutinous mane, she turned to face him, a faint smile on her lips.

Severus slowly approached her seated form. Looking down at her thoughtfully, he asked in a low voice, "It's not good to read in the dark, Ms. Granger. Might I ask why you only have one candle?"

Hermione gestured about the room. "It was like this when I got here. It was so quiet and peaceful; any more light would just ruin the effect."

Severus listened as he took a seat across from her; table, candle and book all that separated them. He deftly reached across the wooden surface, closing the book so that the title was made visible.

"Hogwarts a History? I know you are the dedicated student, but I'm sure under the circumstances Binns wouldn't hold it against if you were to forego your homework this evening." Severus' lips turned upwards in a mock smile.

Hermione took in his words and the small twitch of his lips, her eyes warming at his attempt at small talk.

"I wasn't reading it really. I was just thinking, when this is all said and done, they are going to need to add a few new chapters, won't they?"

Severus eyes darkened. He didn't respond, and the room was filled with a sudden stillness that wrapped itself around the room's two inhabitants. Hermione studied Severus' face raptly, searching for the unspoken question that must have brought him here.

"Were you looking for me?" she prodded.

"Yes." Severus stared directly in to her eyes. So intent upon finding her, he'd had no time to prepare a preface. Now here, he wasn't sure how to begin. He paused for a moment before tentatively stating, "There are those who are not meant to fight."

Hermione looked at him in confusion before realization slowly crept into her eyes. Upon digesting his words her chin rose in defiance. "I'm staying."

Severus scowled. Brows knitting together archly, his voice rose. "Why? Out of some sense of loyalty to Potter? I'm sure he would be happy to see you go home as well. Where it's safe."

Hermione leaned back into her chair. "I don't want safe. I want to be here. I _need_ to be here, just like you do."

Frustrated, Severus balled his hands into fists, a throbbing vein appearing near his temple from the tension.

"You are far too intelligent for this, Hermione. There are so many possibilities for your life. You should not risk that for a place on the battle field."

Hermione's brows rose at being called by her first name. She hadn't realized with what sincerity he was trying to convince her. She looked at him with newfound appreciation.

"The same could be said about you." The honesty in her eyes did nothing for Severus. Nor did the compliment.

He drew closer, aggravation displayed in the crease between his eyes. "Look at me, Hermione. This is my fault. This 'intelligent' man is the one whose actions spurred Voldemort to make his deciding move. We would not be in our current predicament had I not been caught."

Hermione shook her head, her voice filled with disgust as she answered him. "Please. We have all lived these past few years knowing that this moment would arrive sooner or later. And to be honest…I'm tired of waiting. Maybe it's better that it happens now. This could be a good thing. Voldemort is so enraged that he is rushing into confrontation without much preparation. And he's doing so _here_, on our home ground. I would say this is as good as it's going to get." She softened her voice as she spoke the last few sentences. "So I don't want to hear anymore self condemnation. What's done is done. We just have to make the best of things as they are."

"Your life will be in danger." Severus felt as if he would choke on the words.

"I know that." She met his eyes gravely.

Dubiously, Severus looked at her innocent face. "You aren't afraid?"

"Of course I am. But I'm staying, regardless." She said the words kindly but firmly, her knowing eyes drilling into Severus'.

There would be no convincing her then. He leaned his elbows on the table in silent defeat, his head hanging slightly. "I very much wish that you would reconsider." Severus' wishes had held very little sway in the past, and he fully realized they would have no effect now. He was mystified as to why he allowed the words to escape his lips at all.

"How can I leave when all I hold dear is here?" The words were softly whispered—words with a plain enough meaning.

Severus jerked his head up to stare at the girl. She was watching him, her brown eyes expectantly fixed upon him as she waited for his reaction.

He averted his eyes, instead watching as the candle lighting the room began to flutter about in a last desperate, dying dance. He saw the shadows begin to more fully envelope her face, weaving its way through her hair, creeping into her eyes. He clenched his hands once more, knuckles becoming prominent and white. So she would not leave. Even so, the danger would not touch her; he would see to that. Here was a mission he would not fail. He _could_ not. As Severus made his silent promise, the candle extinguished in a curling wisp of invisible smoke.


	12. A Disappearance

Chapter 12: A Disappearance

The echo of light footsteps rang throughout the Great Hall, sharp sounds born only for a few moments before dying in the vast spread of emptiness the castle now afforded. New steps took the place of old, their cyclical births and deaths reverberating off stone walls and then into nothingness. Slowly winding her way about tables and benches, Hermione softly ran her fingers against the cool wood of the smooth surfaces. Steps slow but unfaltering, she made her way to the head table, where she stood tall, taking in the lay of the land. Her eyes were assaulted by the bizarrely neat and orderly. It seemed the world might have made more sense had dirty dishes littered the tables, wet spills puddled the floor, or benches been pushed askew—anything to reflect the chaos that had taken place here just a few hours earlier. But no, the room stood tidy and spotless. The doors gaped wide and open, hopelessly waiting for students to loiter in their frames and block incoming traffic, filling the room all the way up to its enchanted ceiling in contented prattle. Instead stood a thick air of anticipation that made the room's sole inhabitant rather jumpy.

Taking a seat, she shivered slightly, the friendless chill of the room wrapping about her. Hermione absentmindedly smoothed the lines of her skirt, vexed nerves finding a physical outlet in the constant play of fingers tugging at pleated wool. It was strange, sitting there without her robe. While the school uniform provided a small sense of familiarity and sameness, without her robes she felt slightly less protected. She thought the feeling entirely appropriate. She sighed, glancing down at her skirt once more, wishing to see those familiar colors fill the emptiness surrounding her. But it was not to be. She was now in a headquarter of sorts, as well as a probable battleground. Hogwarts was no longer a school, just as Hermione Granger was no longer a student.

There had been a time when she had hated the tumult of this room, the bothersome blather that had assaulted her early every morning for the past seven years. Now as she glanced around the unfilled space, a feeling of regret came over her. She should have appreciated the exuberance of her classmates, their enthusiasm and cheery voices. Now there were neither students nor staff to fill the walls, to bring life into this aged castle.

Hogwarts' professors and personnel were currently traveling across Europe to the various homes of unknowing parents, who were to receive a surprise in the form of their very own flooing child. From what Hermione had heard so far, the parents had been more than understanding of Dumbledore's decision. She thought she shouldn't be so grateful that this was the generation that had seen the ravages of the first war. But it did afford her some sense of comfort. This war-induced understanding might win them some supporters. And that support that was desperately needed.

Dumbledore had ensconced himself in his office, busy applying strategies to paper with an overworked quill. Professor McGonagall had flooed to the ministry to see about the delay of auror support, as well as to make contact with those of the Order who were not yet aware of the situation. The headmaster had made it clear that whoever wished to participate in the battle was more than welcome to do so. In turn, all the professors had vowed their allegiance to him. Yet the current emptiness of the castle had caused a seed of doubt to take root in Hermione's mind. Why were they not here yet?

The faint stirrings of suspicion were interrupted by the sound of familiar voices drawing ever closer. As Harry and Ron walked into the Great Hall she smiled and left the head of the room, going to sit next to them at their usual spots at the Gryffindor table.

"Was that the last of them, then?"

Ron nodded, taking a seat next to Hermione. "Yes, Colin was the last to floo home. Bloody hard to get him into the fireplace. He didn't want to miss a photo opportunity. His last shot was of me, watching him get into the fireplace. Said it was a classic." Ron snickered.

Harry smirked for a moment before seriously adding, "Dumbledore's working on closing the floo system right now. He told me that we're to stay here tonight. I guess he'd rather not have us running about the place while things are so unpredictable. But he said he'll be here soon enough, and then we can go over our course of action."

Hermione nodded thoughtfully.

Ron looked impressed at the empty room. "It's tragic, really. We've got the whole castle to ourselves, and here we are, caged up like animals." He shook his head in faux disgust.

Hermione grinned. "I would hardly call this being cooped up." She gestured to the immense space before them.

Harry watched the sweeping motion of her hand, nodding softly. "Hopefully it won't stay empty for too long. Fudge isn't all that reliable…McGonagall better convince him to send reinforcements soon, or we'll have to follow everyone else's example and leave. Even with Dumbledore, McGonagall and Snape—there's no way that we'll be ready to face Voldemort and whatever company he's keeping." Harry's voice began to take on the desperate tone that had worried Hermione only a day before.

She patted his hand charitably. "Don't worry. McGonagall can be _very_ convincing. Besides, there are quite a few alumni who are on their way, as well as those in the Order. We just have to be patient. It will take time for them to get things in place. This wasn't planned, you know." Seeing Harry's dubious expression, Hermione tried harder to convince him. "Besides, Fudge won't ignore the evidence. With your dreams and Professor Snape's findings, he can't possibly stonewall us forever. It would ruin his career if Hogwarts was attacked and he made no move to help us."

Harry looked at Hermione sharply. "Did you ever find out the specifics of what Snape told Dumbledore?"

Hermione shook her head. "I think if the specifics were important we would know them by now. Whatever Professor Snape told the Headmaster…he believed it. And that should be enough." Her last sentence had sounded a bit defense. Hermione wondered where that had come from.

Harry nodded thoughtfully. "I guess it doesn't really matter. I'm glad his information backed me up though. At least it made some sense of my dreams." He looked sad for a moment before recovering. "Well, Dumbledore isn't here yet. What do you want to do while we wait?"

Ron had his mouth half open in response when the harsh sound of steady, rapid footsteps cut through the air. Sweeping through the room, Severus entered in long, determined strides, followed by an edgy figure tailing his hasty heels.

Whatever suggestion Ron had had was quickly transformed into a loud exclamation. "Neville!"

Hermione jumped up in surprise. "Neville, what are you doing here? I thought you'd been sent off hours ago!"

Neville looked about to answer but was cut off by a foul tempered Snape, who asserted acidly, "Mr. Longbottom was indeed sent home. Unfortunately, Hagrid and he both returned, as they were unable to locate his grandmother." Severus glared at Neville. "As your friend is…of age…he is legally able to make his own decisions." Severus turned to face Harry. "And for whatever reason, he has decided his place is here, with _you_, Mr. Potter." Severus voice simmered to a low, dangerous growl.

Harry's brows rose in surprise at Severus' accusatory tone. "I never asked Neville to stay with me."

Severus moved towards Harry, and though there was no longer much of a difference in height, the angered man towered over him none the less. He glowered at Harry archly. "No, you didn't. It must be wonderful to inspire such loyalty in your friends. They are willing to go to their deaths for you. You should pray that they don't." Severus spit the words out in a warning. He brushed past the group, stalked towards the other side of the room, and turned his back to them as he took a seat in front of the fireplace.

All eyes were fixed on Snape for a long while.

Ron was the first to recover. "What was that?" he asked, bewildered.

Harry shook his head. "I don't want to know." He brought his eyes to grimly rest on Neville. "Well, welcome to the group."

The brown haired boy smiled wanly. "Good to be here, I guess." He took a hesitant look at Snape, who hadn't moved from his spot by the fire.

Ron grabbed Neville by the arm. "Don't worry about him, mate. Come on, I'll challenge you to a game of chess. By the time I win, Dumbledore should be here and we can work on some real strategy."

Neville smiled, and the two traveled to another corner of the room, far away from Snape and his blackened mood.

Harry took a step towards them and then turned back to watch Hermione curiously.

"Coming?"

Hermione bit her lip, glancing to Snape for a moment, and then back at Harry.

"In a bit. I need to go take care of that." She sighed, motioning to the angry figure whose back was turned to them.

Harry examined her face studiously, his head cocked slightly. "You really care for him, don't you?"

Hermione paused, her eyes straying towards the sullen professor. "Yes," she said quietly, "I do".

Harry nodded slowly. "Well, I'm sure you won't be missing anything. You know how cocky Ron gets when he's playing chess." Harry smirked. "Have a nice chat." He gave her a meaningful look before joining his friends.

Hermione smiled at Harry's retreating form as she watched him walk away. She knew he didn't like Snape—never had. The fact that he accepted her caring for their professor spoke volumes about the man Harry was becoming. She was so grateful for his friendship.

Her thoughts quickly moving to Severus, Hermione turned to face him. He was a slab of black sitting on a bench; shoulders slumped, he gloomily stared into the fireplace. With some trepidation, Hermione approached him. It was quiet in this part of the room; the boys' voices barely carried— just a faint murmur that was even softer than the crackling of the fire.

She hadn't been particularly silent in her approach, yet Severus made no move to look at her or acknowledge her presence. She sighed softly and took a seat next to him on the bench. They sat there until Hermione felt the need to break the heavy silence.

"You didn't have to yell at Harry, you know. He's not the reason I'm staying." Getting no response from him, she said sarcastically, "Of course, I might be being completely egotistical right now, and you're upset for an entirely different reason." She looked at Severus expectantly. He in turn said nothing. They were quiet again for long minutes.

"Are you angry with me?"

Severus turned around suddenly, his face coming close to her own as he did so. "Yes", he murmured softly, his eyes meetings her just for a moment before he turned back to the fire.

Hermione frowned at him. She sighed, letting the silence take them over.

She watched the fire jumping before her, its steady crackle and burn enthralling her even as she fought exasperation. It comforted her as it warmed her chilled skin, her arm gently grazing Severus' side as she relaxed. She looked up at his face. She was so tired, and she didn't want to argue with him.

Letting her hand discreetly make its way over to Severus', she insinuated her small fingers into his palm, squeezing ever so slightly. "It'll be alright," she whispered, "I promise."

Of course, it was an empty assurance, and one that she knew she had no right to make. But nevertheless it had the desired affect. Severus' hand came to life, gripping her firmly—almost uncomfortably so. But Hermione didn't withdraw her hand. She squeezed back, the firm pressure assuring them both of something they had yet to put into words.

* * *

Hermione stretched, slowing coming into consciousness with a terrible yawn and a few bleary blinks of the eye. Gingerly bringing her hands up to her head, she felt the brambly bird's nest that had once been an attractive cascade of curls. Oh, that was lovely.

The night had been long and unfulfilling. Dumbledore had failed to make an appearance; they assumed he must have been terribly busy. Severus had gone back and forth between Dumbledore's office and the Great Hall, aiding Dumbledore with what he could, and then returning to the Hall to check on Hogwarts' remaining four students. He looked more cross with every one of his entrances—whether it was due to the information Dumbledore had given him or the ever increasing state of anxiety that they all felt, Hermione was not sure. Eventually, she had given up waiting for Dumbledore and instead had conjured them all bedding to be lain across the stone floor. After some rather feeble attempts to lighten the mood, they had all drifted off, each to their own disturbed dreams.

Hermione now sat up and surveyed the Great Hall. The boys must have gone to the bathroom; their beds were rumpled and empty. She frowned, wondering how long they'd been gone. Her worries were interrupted by a steady, buzzing sound. Hermione turned around, only to smile as she saw Severus dozing quietly in his chair. He was breathing softly, the regular rise and fall of his chest the only other recognizable sign of his sleep. She wondered how anyone could relax while sitting so straight. She should have assumed as much though. She hardly expected him to be curled up in a little ball, drool coming from his mouth. Hermione giggled at the thought, running her hands through her hair as she did so, attempting to straighten out her tangled locks.

She collapsed onto her bed once more, sighing as she glanced around the still empty room. She had expected the place would be crawling with aurors by now. Evidently the ministry was not taking the threat seriously. Fudge was probably being especially stubborn about recognizing their needs. Or perhaps she had overestimated McGonagall's abilities of persuasion.

Hermione shivered and noticed the fire had died; there were only a few orange embers where once had lived a healthy flame. Not looking, she reached for her blanket, still warm with the heat of her body. Expecting the soft feel of a down comforter, Hermione pulled her hand back when she felt a rough and fibrous fabric. Looking down, she grinned wickedly, wrapping the cloak around herself. She glanced over at Severus' sleeping body fondly. He didn't have to do that. But she was awfully glad that he had.

Hermione's thoughts were interrupted by an exhausted looking Dumbledore, who limped into the Great Hall with less energy than she had ever seen him.

"Good morning, Ms. Granger."

Nodding, Hermione rose, noticing Severus stir from his place on the chair.

"Have you heard from Minerva?"

Dumbledore shook his head. "Not yet, Severus. But it is early yet. I have every hope she will arrive within the next few hours."

Severus shook his head in disgust. "Fudge is giving you a hard time because he doesn't want to take the word of a former Death Eater. Had your information come from any other source, I guarantee the place would be swarming with aurors at this very moment."

"Ah, now Severus, let us not be bitter. The minister is taking his time in responding, that is true. But it very well may be his opinion of me as an old fogy that is causing the delay."

Hermione raised her eyebrows at Dumbledore's wit, whereas Severus just scowled.

"But let us not dwell on such dark thoughts. I fear there will be time for that soon enough." Dumbledore's eyes made its way towards the great tables near them. "We will eat breakfast, and wait for our young men to arrive before we discuss any plans."

Hermione's eyes wandered towards the heavily laden table which she had failed to notice before. It seemed that the house elves had outdone themselves.

The table, empty when she had fallen asleep, was now heavily filled with an assortment of breakfast foods. It seemed the house elves had overlooked the fact that practically the school's entire population had vacated the premises. Nevertheless, the meal looked delicious. Hermione had no doubt the boys would smell it from wherever they had gone to, especially since they'd had no dinner last night. Her eyes made their way to a basket of ripe fruits that shone happily in the morning light.

Snape was the first towards the table, pouring himself a great cup of coffee and then sinking back into his chair. He nursed his mug with both hands, scowling as Dumbledore approached a platter heaping with sweets. Hermione stared from her apple to the pile of danishes that Dumbledore was eyeing. They looked dreadfully sweet. She was sure the amount of sugar in the icing was enough to send a grown man into a diabetic coma.

Hermione shook her head as she watched Dumbledore make his way to the mountain of pastries, each sickeningly sweet confection glazed in a unique color. "Would you like one?" he asked Hermione, his arm motioning for her to help herself. She shook her head. Dumbledore looked upon her apple in amusement. "We only live once, Ms. Granger." Severus and Hermione watched as Dumbledore extended a hand towards the sweets, his fingers hovering just above a particularly saccharine looking treat. His hand made brief contact, and then in a sudden blink…he disappeared. Hermione froze in shock, staring stupidly at the empty space before them— where the Headmaster had been standing only a moment before. Turning her head to meet equally astounded eyes, she whispered, "He's gone."


	13. An Escape

Chapter 13: An Escape

_Severus and Hermione watched as Dumbledore extended a hand towards the sweets, his fingers hovering just above a particularly saccharine looking treat. His hand made brief contact, and then in a sudden blink...he disappeared. Hermione froze in shock, staring stupidly at the empty space before them—where the Headmaster had been standing only a moment before. Turning her head to meet equally astounded eyes, she whispered, "He's gone."_

The ragged whisper that had escaped Hermione's lips filled every crevice of the Great Hall, its fearful tone winding around empty chairs and rushing across the gray, stone floor. The rasping sound reverberated throughout the space for far longer than was to be expected, and even when the words themselves ceased to ring, their presence remained. Now silent, they coiled about the room's sole two occupants, taunting them in low undertones of pain and loss.

Hermione shook her head slowly, not wanting to accept her own words. No longer did she feel the chill of the morning air, or the gnawing hunger that had reared its head only a few moments before. Instead, all awareness became focused exclusively upon the rapid beat of her heart and the horrible feeling of panic that maliciously lapped at her consciousness. The air stilled, and she took a grating, deep breath to counter the harsh weight that seemed to have settled on her chest.

Facts battled with common sense as she gaped at the hollow void where once stood Hogwarts' Headmaster. He just _couldn't_ be gone. Dumbledore was their rock, their leader. He was the one man that Voldemort feared. And now he was gone. Shivering, Hermione instinctively took a step closer to Severus, eyes wide as she waited for him to do something, say something to right their world which had so quickly come undone.

Severus, however, made no move to comfort her. He stood silent and lifeless, his mind still adjusting to the vacancy Dumbledore had left in his wake. Over the course of the night, his mind had touched upon all the terrible calamities that might face them come morning. He had thought of his many colleagues and acquaintances that would likely lose their lives in the coming conflict. With the evacuation, he had already seen the fall of Hogwarts. He believed the students a liability, fully expecting they too would fall if he and Dumbledore failed in their role protect them. But the thought that his mentor would be the first to feel the ravages of battle had never crossed his mind.

Severus was shaken out of his reverie by a fervent tugging at his sleeve.

"He's gone," Hermione repeated. "What are we supposed to do?" Her voice was tinged with panic, and her hands spasmodically closed around his arm.

Severus swallowed, shaking his head, the words not finding strength enough to leave his mouth. Shakily, he ran his fingers through his tangled hair.

"Professor, what are we supposed to do?"

"Silence, Ms. Granger! I…I…let me think." He wrenched his arm away from her and began pacing in long, erratic strides. Hermione watched him, foolishly missing the swirl of his robes around his ankles. Unconsciously, she further drew the rough cloth around herself.

Her frustration grew with each passing moment of silence. It was only when she felt she could wait no longer that Snape spun to face her, his face tense and furrowed. "We must try to contact Minerva. If she is with the rest of the Order, perhaps they can…" He growled in frustration at his stilted words, violently kicking the bench beside him. It crumpled to the ground with a disgruntled clatter, the sound reverberating off the castle walls.

Hermione jumped at the loud intrusion his action made upon the empty room.

"How could he not have been more careful?" he continued. What for some might have been a lamentation was for Severus a frustrated accusation. Violently, he turned to face her. "Was all this here when you woke this morning?" He gestured fiercely towards the once sumptuous meal, now turned dangerous in appearance.

"I don't know…I wasn't paying attention," she confessed, cringing at the anger on his face. She turned to examine the table before her, shaking her head in disgust. "We're such fools. It must have been so easy for them…and yet we didn't see it," she whispered under breath.

Snarling, Severus turned to glare at her. "What an insightful observation, Ms. Granger. How helpful in our current situation." He turned around, once again circling the area of Dumbledore's disappearance with angry, swift steps.

Hermione stared at him, trying desperately to keep her own anger in check. She took a few deep breaths in an effort to calm herself, only then remembering that there were those who had no idea of what had taken place. Hurriedly, she moved to brush past him, regretfully muttering, "I'll go find the boys… they need to know." Leaving his side, she hastened towards the doorway.

Severus sullenly watched her go. She was only a few steps away when a shiver ran through him, an ominous ache that fleetingly traveled through his bones only to disappear a second later. But it was enough.

"Hermione!"

Strong fingers seizing her shoulders, Hermione lurched backwards and stumbled into a chest draped in black. Righting herself, she turned to stare up at him confusedly. "What is it?"

"The wards," he barked, seizing her arm and dragging her with him. "The wards, they're down."

Hermione struggled, trying to free her hand. "What do you mean they're down? Dumbledore said they were virtually impenetrable."

"They lose effectiveness without Dumbledore here to reinforce them. That kind of powerful magic cannot be sustained when the caster is a great distance away or..." He shook his head, trying to stop his mind from jumping to the worst conclusion.

Hermione wriggled in an attempt to escape from his firm grasp. "Let me go!" Severus ignored her, making no motion to remove his hands. "Where are we going?"

Severus gazed down at her gravely. "To safety."

Before she had a chance to respond, Hermione felt a hand snaking around her waist, his fingers securely pressed into her ribs. With a small pop, she felt herself whirling away from the Great Hall, Severus' body the only thing to ground her as she journeyed towards the unknown.

* * *

A few moments later, Hermione found she had landed in an untidy heap upon a filthy, wooden floor, her face dangerously close to a pair of black shoes. Hauling herself to her feet, she briefly surveyed her surroundings before squarely meeting Severus in the eye. Her frustration was voiced in a high pitched tone that more than conveyed her anger.

"What did you just do? We can't leave like that! There are three people still in the castle… and we just left them there!" Frantically, she scanned the small room for an exit.

Severus placed his heavy hands on her shoulders, stilling her motions. He spoke in a low, commanding tone, trying to reason with her.

"Don't be foolish, Hermione. The wards are down. The castle could be swarming with Death Eaters as we speak."

This comment did little to assuage Hermione's fears. She settled for a moment, staring at him dangerously. "That very well may be, Professor. But I refuse to leave my friends to face that fate alone." She looked at him severely for a moment longer and then made to turn towards the door.

Severus grasped her head, placing his palms on either side of her face in order to hold her gaze.

"Hermione, I will go back for them. Now. But I couldn't leave you there, not when I had a chance to bring you to safety."

Hermione shook herself free, staring at him with angry, tear-filled eyes.

Releasing her face, Severus straightened up, his voice returning the commanding tone he usually reserved for his student-filled classroom. "You will wait here. Do not try to return to the castle. I promise, I will bring your friends back with me. Stay. Wait." He indicated to a bed in the corner of the room. "I will return as soon as I can." Then he spoke in a somewhat kinder voice as he looked down at her. "Promise me…promise me you will wait here. I cannot focus on my task if I am worrying for your safety."

Hermione looked at him harshly, and then nodded, sitting herself on the thin mattress.

"Go," she instructed.

Severus nodded and readied himself to apparate.

"Professor?"

He turned to face her.

"Be careful," she whispered.

Relief shone in Severus eyes, and he met her look with unmistakable affection. They stayed connected that way for a small moment before Severus broke the gaze, his eyes hardening once again. Then his black clad figure disappeared, leaving Hermione to wait in her new surroundings in worried expectation.

* * *

Hermione sat huddled on the bare bed, legs curled into her chest as she leaned against the wall for support. She thoughtfully examined the room around her, wondering where she could be. It was a rustic little cabin, and the dust told her unvisited as of late. It had obviously not been meant for many people. There was the tiny bed on which sat a few moth-eaten blankets, a barren cabinet nearby, and a chair which hinted at splinters. Otherwise, it was devoid of any furniture or other creature comforts.

Tiring of her inertia, Hermione rose from her spot on the bed and peered out a grimy window. Placing her hands on the cold, wet glass, she tried to rub away the fog and dirt that must have been accumulating for ages. It streaked and smeared, but after a few wipes of her sleeve she was able to dimly make out her surroundings. She suspected she must be somewhere in the Forbidden Forest. Snape had told her not to try to return to Hogwarts, which undoubtedly meant that she was nearby. Besides, it was morning, and yet outside the window it was dark, the trees blotting out every speck of sunlight while also hiding much of the landscape.

Hermione began to pace, each passing minute her anxiety building. Snape would find them. He had promised. Yet she couldn't help but worry. What if… Hermione stumbled, righting herself with a hand at the edge of the neglected chair. She frowned and glanced down at the ground to see Severus' cloak pooled at her feet—it must have fallen when they had apparated. She stared for a moment, and then collapsed beside it onto the floor, shivering and wrapping her arms around herself as her back pressed uncomfortably into the iron foot of the bed.

She didn't know how long she had been sitting there. Her fingers were frozen, and she had a difficult time uncurling them after they had been clenched around the folds of Severus' cloak for such a long period of time. She found that, as well as the pain in her back, to be a happy distraction from the worries that plagued her. Still, she was not so distracted that when the sound of snapping twigs and the rustle of leaves came from beyond the wooden door she did not immediately take notice. She jumped to her feet, heart racing and wand at the ready, hoping whatever lay on the other side was a friend.

Slowly, the door creaked open, and three grubby faces stumbled through the entrance, followed by a surly looking potions master.

"You didn't have to herd us about like that!" Ron groused. "No one was even behind us."

"Silence," Snape hissed, "do you realize how much danger you were in?"

Hermione, not acknowledging the argument, threw her arms around Ron, hugging him as she smiled into his shoulder at Harry and Neville, who flanked him on either side.

"Ow!" he exclaimed, the wind knocked out of him with the force of Hermione's embrace. "Hermione, do you mind? Any harder and you'll crack a rib." Hermione stood back, and Ron grinned at her.

Addressing the three, she asked, "Were where you? Dumbledore disappeared, and you were gone!"

Ron's smile instantly vanished, and Harry nodded gravely. "We went to our rooms to get a few things. It took us a bit longer than we expected. We were checking the Marauder's Map to see if Dumbledore had put in an appearance—" He was interrupted by a snort, and turned to look at a scowling Snape. Harry just shook his head and continued, "We saw Dumbledore, and then we…didn't. His name just disappeared off the map. And then we saw you and Snape, and then you disappeared as well."

Hermione gave a quick glance to Severus. "We apparated here right after Dumbledore vanished."

Harry nodded in affirmation. "Well, we ran all the way down to the Great Hall. It took us a while though, because wanted to make sure the halls were clear. Anyway, when we finally got there we met Professor Snape, and he told us what happened."

Severus stepped forward, finishing the report. "I was able to apparate into the castle, but when I attempted to leave, I found new wards were already put in place. That was the reason for our delay. We traveled here by foot."

"New wards?" Hermione asked. "I thought you said the wards would remain down if Dumbledore was gone.

"They are not Dumbledore's wards," Severus said sharply.

Hermione looked at him in confusion and then drew her attention to Harry, who seemed to be fumbling with something in his pocket. He withdrew the Marauder's Map and softly spoke the incantation, handing it to Hermione.

She gave him a curious look and then examined the parchment. There were at least thirty small dots moving about the page, some with names, some without. Her hands began to shake slightly as she looked at the sole dot moving slowly throughout Dumbledore's office. "Tom Riddle" she whispered.

"Yes," Severus confirmed. "Voldemort is within the castle, and at the moment we have neither aurors nor other means of support."

They were quiet for a moment, the realization of their situation slowly sinking in. "What are we supposed to do?" Neville asked, the first to break the silence, finally finding the courage to join the conversation.

"_You _will wait here," Severus instructed. "I will apparate to the ministry and inform them of Dumbledore's disappearance and Voldemort's attack. With any luck, I will be able to contact Minerva, and we will be able to rally a defense."

Ron stepped forward angrily. "We should be going too! You can't just leave us here indefinitely!"

Snape snarled, and Ron suddenly found himself backed upon against the cabin wall. "Do you think I would leave you here to die? This cabin, and others like it, lie throughout the Forbidden Forrest, and are undetectable to anyone who has no former knowledge of them. The Headmaster placed them here after the first war, just in the possibility that there would ever be a need." Severus stepped away from Ron, staring at him coldly. "You will be fine. And as I cannot apparate you all there myself, this is the best alternative."

Hermione watched Severus regretfully. "When will you come back?"

"Soon," he assured her. "I will return later this evening." Turning to face the four of them, Severus ordered "Stay here. Do not go outside. And be vigilant." He looked at each individually, trying to impart the seriousness of his words with his eyes. His expression remained unchanged, yet he allowed his gaze to linger slightly on Hermione, who looked at him worriedly. He gave her a brief nod and without further warning, disappeared, leaving three Gryffindors to breathe a sigh of relief, while Hermione's fingers turned white from the strength of her grasp on his cloak.


	14. A Discovery

Chapter 14: A Discovery

_Turning to face the four of them, Severus ordered "Stay here. Do not go outside. And be vigilant." He looked at each individually, trying to impart the seriousness of his words with his eyes. His expression remained unchanged, yet he allowed his gaze to linger slightly on Hermione, who looked at him worriedly. He gave her a brief nod and without further warning, disappeared, leaving three Gryffindors to breathe a sigh of relief, while Hermione's fingers turned white from the strength of her grasp on his cloak._

Ron turned to his three friends, shrugging nonchalantly before wandering over to the larger of the two pieces of furniture occupying the room. Hands on his hips, he dismally surveyed its threadbare state, only to collapse a moment later atop the worn mattress. The springs groaned in tired protest against the unwanted weight, and he coughed heavily as a thick infusion of dust invaded his nostrils. He spluttered for a bit, and then for dignity's sake acted as if nothing had happened. "So," he wheezed, "what are we supposed to do?"

Harry shook his head, gingerly taking a seat next to Ron on the bed. "I don't think there is anything we _can_ do. We have the map, and we can check to see if there are any changes…but other than that, I don't know." He leaned his head against the wall tiredly. "I think we just wait."

Still standing, Neville stared at Harry and Ron, fiddling his thumbs and shifting nervously. "What if Professor Snape doesn't come back?" he asked in a small voice.

Harry sighed. "He wouldn't leave us here. Besides, I need to be in the battle, so he _has_ to come back to get me."

"I don't know, Harry," Neville said dubiously. "He didn't seem to want us to participate in any of the plans. He probably doesn't want us fighting either."

Harry's mouth was half open in response when Hermione cut into the conversation, her angry eyes burning into an already agitated Neville. "What are you thinking? Of _course_ he is going to come back!" she answered vehemently. "And have you even thought about the reason he might not want us to fight? He doesn't want any of us to get hurt! Why can't you understand that?" She glared at Neville and then stalked over to a dark corner of the room, sinking into an irritated heap upon the floor.

Ron raised his brows in surprise; Hermione had never yelled at Neville before. In fact, she was usually his greatest supporter. Curiosity stirred, he shifted on the bed to face her, head crooked to the side as he gazed at her more critically. She was sulking in the corner, her knotted hair obscuring the greater portion of her face, which in all likelihood didn't have on too pleasant an expression at the moment. She'd completely drawn into herself—knees hugged into her chest, and a heavy cloak covering her body, acting as a barrier between her body and the source of her annoyance. Ron's eyes trailed upwards, trying to get a better view of her expression, when his gaze was inexplicably drawn back down to her cloak. Except…it didn't really look like her cloak. And it appeared to be too clean to come from the likes of the cabin. And…it was rather familiar as well.

"Hermione, what have you got there?" Ron questioned, his eyes narrowing suspiciously.

She looked up at him tiredly. "What are you talking about?" she asked.

"I'm talking about that cloak you're grabbing at," he said accusingly.

"Professor Snape gave it to me this morning," she stated flatly, clutching the fabric all the tighter.

Ron stared at her in shock. "Hermione, are you mental? You don't just go around wearing Snape's clothes!" His voice rose dramatically, the appalled exclamation filling the tiny room. "And why'd he give it to you in the first place?"

Livid, Hermione responded sharply. "Not that it's any of your business, Ronald Weasley, but he gave it to me because I was cold!"

Ron shot up from his seat, his eyes flashing a warning. "Snape doesn't just give people his clothes, Hermione, cold or not! This is dangerous. Do you even know what you're doing?"

Hermione's hands formed themselves into fists, white-knuckled and clenched, while Ron's escalating exasperation had tinted his face an angry scarlet Grimacing, Harry jumped up in an effort to intervene, setting his body between the two as he let out a shout.

"That's enough!"

Harry looked to his red-headed friend, allowing the command to shock him into silence so that he might finish uninterrupted. He took a deep breath and then continued, his voice softening although its authority remained unmistakable. "Hermione's business is her own. She's always been the brains of the three of us. I figure she can decide for herself what's in her best interest." Harry rose from the bed, closing the distance between himself and Hermione in a few long strides. He took a seat beside her on the floor, and she turned to look at him gratefully. "Thank you," she whispered softly.

Harry nodded, smiling at her fondly before turning to face Ron and Neville. "Now, I know that we're all under a great amount of stress, and that there are certain…issues among us. But now is not the time to discuss them. I'm betting we'll be here for a good part of the day, maybe even through the night. So if we can't put aside our differences, let's just agree to keep quiet." He gave Ron a pointed look. "There's no room for petty fighting. We have a bigger battle to fight out there." Harry gestured towards the door with a jerk of his head.

Ron frowned, hearing the truth in Harry's words, but still bothered by Hermione's admission. A scowl marring his face, he haphazardly sank back onto the bed, coughing as another invisible ball of dust rose to surround him. Neville took a seat on the floor next to him, and the unhappy four sat in a silence that while lacking in words, had tension in excess.

* * *

It had been a trying day. The rain had begun to fall around noon, and the cabin had taken on a dismal state of dampness that only added to the gloom felt by those inside. Ron had broken the silence long enough to urge for a fire, but Hermione had pointed out that the smoke might be visible from the castle. When he suggested that a warming charm might work just as well, Hermione had wondered whether their magic might be tracked. The boys hadn't bothered to answer her, and instead stripped the beddings and wrapped it around themselves, all the while trying to disregard the musty odor. They talked very little. Harry and Hermione were pensive, Ron was in a terrible mood, and poor Neville was terrified, probably wishing that he had been able to locate his grandmother. They took out the map every now and then, making the odd remark. But other than that, the room remained in an anticipatory silence.

When Professor Snape did arrive, it was not until much later in the day. He apparated into the middle of the room, sneering as Neville yelped in surprise, falling backwards onto the bed.

"Professor!" Hermione exclaimed, scrambling to her feet. "What happened? What did the minister say? Were you able to find Professor McGonagall?" She looked at him expectantly, all the conserved energy of the day expelled from her mouth in a burst of verbal curiosity.

Severus held his hand up, attempting to put a stopper in the flow of eager questions. "Yes, Ms. Granger. Professor McGonagall was the first person I came in contact with. However, it seems my presence was not necessary, as she had already been informed of our situation…by Professor Dumbledore."

"Dumbledore!" Harry yelled, "What do you mean, Dumbledore?"

With barely contained exasperation, Snape replied, "Mr. Potter, if you'd let me finish..." As the words trailed off, his brow arched, daring the boy to speak. Biting his lip, Harry willed himself to remain quiet. With an arrogant look, Severus continued. "As I said, the Order was made aware of our predicament by Albus. It seems the portkey led to a destination far enough so that he was not able to immediately return to Hogwarts by apparition. Trusting that I would take care of things at the school, he worked his way towards the ministry headquarters instead."

Hermione shook her head. "That doesn't make any sense. Why would Voldemort just send Dumbledore to the middle of nowhere?"

Snape's face hardened. "It seems that Voldemort has retained at least some semblance of sanity. He has always feared Albus, and therefore did not wish to send the Headmaster anywhere near himself, even with the protection of his loyal Death Eaters. Nor do I think he wished for Albus to be harmed. It seems he wanted the Headmaster gone, just long enough to erect wards around Hogwarts that would make it impossible for anyone to easily enter."

Hermione looked at him in confusion. "But what purpose would that serve? What did he gain in doing so?"

"Voldemort is taunting us, Ms. Granger. He has ensconced himself within Albus' office, with the belief that he has chased us from our home. His purpose is to have his revenge against Dumbledore and myself for pulling the wool over his eyes. This attack is purely personal, and I doubt based on any grand desire for power. As it is, I'm sure he is delighted that the school has been closed." Severus finished the sentence simply, all evidence of emotion erased from his voice.

"I saw him…in my dreams," Harry said slowly. "He was gloating, as if he conquered us." He looked up to meet Snape's eyes. "But he hasn't. Let him have his fun, let him think that he's won…It won't be for long." Harry finished, and was surprised to find Severus looking at him with something close to respect.

"So what's the plan?" Hermione urged.

"Early tomorrow morning we will launch an attack. The minister was unable to resist the headmaster's more…compelling arguments." Severus' eyes glittered dangerously. "There are many aurors ready and willing to join us in battle. Your family is among then, Mr. Weasley, as are many other Hogwarts alumni. At six o'clock tomorrow we will assemble at the edge of the forest." Severus glanced at the four faces eyeing him, checking to see if they understood the magnitude of his words. "We have quite a few advantages. Mr. Potter's _map_ will ensure that we will know the location of the Dark Lord's men. And as Voldemort has erected wards similar to Albus', we can be certain he will not be able to flee by apparition. If we can keep the battle inside the castle walls, there is a good chance this can be ended once and for all."

They were silent for a moment, each picturing the possible events of the following day.

"We'd all better get some rest then," Harry said. He looked to his friends stoically. "We have a big day tomorrow."

Severus quickly interrupted. "Out of the four of you, Mr. Potter is the only one whose presence is required in battle. It would be best if you the rest of you were to remain here."

"No!" Ron objected. "If you think that we're staying here, you're wrong! Harry needs us, and we are all capable of fighting."

"And equally capable of dying!" Severus voiced was raised suddenly, and then settled into a malicious whisper that brought goose bumps to the flesh of all who heard it. "Do you know what it's like—watching your friends die? You may very well get a good taste of that tomorrow, Mr. Weasley. To watch the blood leave their bodies, life leave their eyes…and know there is _nothing_ you can do to save them. Is that an experience you will savor?"

A small cry interrupted Severus' words, and four sets of eyes came to rest upon Hermione, whose hand had traveled to her mouth in order to stifle her reaction to the vivid pictures her professor had so aptly described.

Instantly regretting his outburst, Severus reached his arm out as if to comfort her. Hermione cringed away at the movement, only to then look at him in horrified silence.

Severus watched her, the confusion visible in his face. It was a long moment before he processed her actions, his look of bewilderment turning into one of hurt, then disappearing altogether into the façade of the sneering Potions Master. He quickly retracted his hand, composing himself as he drew up to his full height, ignoring Hermione's sorry gaze. "Fine. You wish to fight? Then prepare yourselves. We leave at dawn." With the cold indifference of those final words, he promptly swept out of the room, the door slamming angrily behind him.


	15. A Kiss

Chapter 15: A Kiss

Night had found its way into the woods, darkness combing a path through the thick foliage and creating phantoms upon the forest floor. Despite the shade, damp drops of dew were yet discernible, glistening atop bended blades of grass that rustled even under the heavy weight of the water. Mirroring the night sky, the tiny puddles reflected manifold shades of blue that danced across a pale, worn face.

He sat quiet and alone, back fitted against the bark of a gnarled old elm as he waited for morning. Despite the light rainfall, the ground beneath the tree remained dry—the great stretch of branches and their leaves effectively protecting the ground from any water. Severus leaned further into the trunk, closing his eyes as the smell of wet earth rose up to greet his nostrils. He inhaled great lungfuls of it, savoring the heady scent whilst trying to disregard the distracting sounds of clicking and chirping coming from the undergrowth nearby. He had thought the soothing sound of crickets might help to ease that which ailed him. Unfortunately, it had done a poor job of it, only adding to the turmoil roiling within his skull. He grimaced suddenly, his lips tightening grimly. Bringing his hand to his arm, Severus applied firm pressure to the cloth covering the area that had steadily burned for the majority of the night.

A flicker at the corner of his eye distracted him from the pain. He'd taken his place here a while ago, yet it seemed only the moths and occasional night flyers dared to disturb his solemn sentry. He watched them weave their way in the darkness, their flickering lights calling to a potential mate. They languidly drifted towards the lonely figuring sitting among the moss and lichen, only to be brushed away by a bothered hand. Unwelcome, they fluttered away, fading into the night. Severus scowled as he watched them withdraw.

He'd been outside for hours now, had seen the sun shed its last rays through the dense condensation of branches and leaves. It was only when the last bit of light had died away that he'd felt at all comfortable, becoming one with the nocturnal landscape. He'd needed this peace, needed to retreat from the voices in the cabin—from the misunderstandings and fearful eyes. Severus sighed, leaning further into the tree as he recognized the stirrings of a headache begin at the base of his skull.

How could she think he would hurt her? It's true—he was a reactionary man, difficult and unpredictable. But during the past month they had come to an understanding, a truce. More than that, even. He frowned, shaking the thought from his head. It was inappropriate to think such things. Truth be told, until now he'd barely thought of appropriateness concerning his relationship with her, never having the time, and therefore not the realization that went along with it. Somehow she'd gotten close to him without either doing anything unseemly. There had been the occasional touch, but always innocent in intention. He hadn't even realized there was something there until it was too late. Such unawareness ill befit a spy. He grimaced. Perhaps that was why he was a spy no longer.

The faint creak of an opening door interrupted his thoughts. He heard footsteps approaching, the muffled sound of steps occasionally sinking into the softened ground. They drew closer, and he was soon able to discern a small, feminine form making its way through the shadows onto firmer soil.

He drew his brows together crossly. "Ms. Granger, I am in no way desirous of your presence this evening." His voice cut across the muggy air impatiently, but her body kept its steady approach until she stood before him, the light from the stars not enough to illuminate her face.

Her slight body stood towering over his seated form. She looked down at him, and though Severus tried, it was too dark to try to read the depths of those brown eyes. There was a slight hesitation, and then, decision made, she sank to her knees in an effort to get comfortable.

"Here," she said, proffering something in her outreached hand. "We found some tea in the cupboard. The boys and I decided that the amount of magic needed to fix it wasn't enough to be a danger." She quietly waited for his response. When none came, she lowered her voice edgily. "We haven't eaten all day. Won't you at least have something to drink?"

Severus wanted to refuse her, but the amount of concern in her voice tugged at him, although he wondered why she would bother to feign concern over someone she feared. Against all instinct, he roughly took hold of the mug, liquid sloshing over the sides at the forceful transfer of ownership.

He turned to face her, in his dark eyes an unmistakable storm. He took a heavy swig of the stale, bitter beverage, draining it in one violent gulp. Tossing the container into the darkness, he heard it shatter as it hit upon something hard. "Satisfied, Ms. Granger? You may return to the cabin for the evening satisfied in the fact that during the night I shall not perish from dehydration." He archly looked away from her.

He heard her give a soft sigh, and then heard the rustle of fabric as she took a seat next to him.

"I'm not exactly wanted in there," she admitted.

Severus turned to sneer at her. "Oh my. Dissention among the ranks, is there? Potter not putting up with your blether today? Excuse me if I've other things to be concerned about besides your societal failures."

A wounded expression crossed Hermione's face, and she remained quiet. The two sat in silence, which soon became painfully uncomfortable.

"Have you nowhere else to be?"

"I'm not on the best of terms with Ron and Neville at the moment, _Professor_. And I rather thought I'd come here and try to work things out with you, rather than stay inside and continue to argue."

"There is nothing to work out, Ms. Granger," he spit.

"Fine," she answered testily.

Severus expected her to get up and leave, but she didn't. Her arms were firmly crossed underneath her chest and her head was held high in annoyance, but she stayed.

There was silence for a bit, and then a sigh. "It doesn't seem real, does it?" Hermione asked in a thoughtful voice. When she received no answer, she continued speaking. "I mean, my entire experience in the magical world has been leading up to this day. And by tomorrow night that world will have changed..." She turned to look at him. "It just doesn't seem real—to finally get what we've been waiting for."

She was right. In their current environment, so soft and peaceful, the realities of the morning seemed quite a ways away. And he suddenly felt very sorry that she should live through this.

"I assure you, Hermione. It will be very real come morning."

Hearing her first name, Hermione turned to him, hoping he was now more receptive to a discussion. Before she was able to speak, she noticed Severus frown slightly as he tried to inconspicuously adjust the sleeve of his robe. His jaw clenched suddenly at the movement, no matter how minor.

"Is something wrong?"

Severus avoided her face, so open and concerned for him. "No," he answered gruffly.

"It's your arm, isn't it?" She stared at it, biting her lip. "He's hurting you." It wasn't a question, but a statement—one filled with sad acceptance.

He looked at her intently, and she raised her head to meet his gaze.

She offered a small hand to him. "May I?"

"Why?" he asked, utterly disgruntled.

There was a hint of a smile on her face as she teased, "Cold hands, remember?"

Severus scowled. "I do not want your pity, Ms. Granger."

"That's not what this is," she said with a small sigh of exasperation.

Severus looked at her darkly, pausing for a long moment before extending his arm.

Hermione's lips twitched in a smile. He had not completely closed himself off to her, then. She inched closer to him, their sides grazing each other gently. She slowly drew his arm into her lap, rolling the sleeve up to his elbow. Now exposed, the underlying skin shone white in the darkness, marred only by the ominous black ink lying not so dormantly under the layer of smooth flesh. She brushed the skin softly, and then firmly placed her hand over the darkened spot.

Severus started slightly. She was right. Sitting in that cold cabin for the day had had left its mark on her. Her hands were wonderfully cool, her touch soothing away the painful reminder of his past. He let out a somewhat shaky sigh and closed his eyes, knowing she wouldn't notice in the dark. It was so foreign—having someone touch him so willingly. Strange that she should, if she was afraid of him. And yet how many times had she shown her concern? Furrowing his brow, Severus willed the confusion to go away, instead concentrating on the familiar gentleness of her fingers.

"May I ask you a question?" she asked.

Severus nodded distractedly, opening his eyes to examine her hand covering his mark, whose terrible throbbing was slowly coming to an end.

"How did you know that Hogwarts was going to be attacked? You're not a spy anymore. That information can't have come easily."

He sighed, addressing her with reluctance. "There are ways other than spying in which one can extract information. None of them pleasant," he added warily.

Hermione frowned, not grasping what he meant. A moment later her brows rose in understanding. She met his eyes, and an involuntary shudder ran through her as she thought of the methods he had employed to gain that bit of information. She faintly increased her hold on him, wishing she could console him over the awful task he had been burdened with.

"And that's how you were injured," she whispered softly.

He felt the slight tremor of her body, mistaking it for disgust. "I imagine you are horrified," he stated dispassionately.

"Don't think I'm under the illusion that you are an innocent," she said dryly. "I think we've well moved passed that point in our relationship."

"At least I know what you think of me then," he answered quietly.

"I didn't mean it like that, and you know it," she corrected, meanwhile cushioning her head against his shoulder. Her left hand having absorbed the heat of his arm, she switched to the right, and a whole new infusion of coolness caressed his skin.

Severus stiffened as her hair reached out to tickle his jaw. He waited for a moment until he felt able to speak. "What _did_ you mean?" he asked carefully.

She picked her head up from his shoulder and looked up at him solemnly. "It means that I know you. Which is a feat in itself, because you are a very difficult man to understand. But I think I do. Or at least, I'm getting there." She gave him a small smile of appreciation. "You are a good man, Severus Snape."

Turning his head from her, Severus slowly disengaged his arm from her hands, trying to break the connection of their stare and distance himself from the strange, unfamiliar feeling in his chest.

He felt those cool fingers on his cheek, drawing his face to stare at hers once more.  
"I need you to know something," she murmured. "I'm not afraid of you. In there…" She looked towards the cabin, and then shook her head. "You painted quite the vivid picture. But did you even bother to think that I might count _you_ among the friends I worry for?" Her thumb grazed softly against his cheek. "I could never fear you. Not when I've come to care for you so very much."

Severus' brows rose in surprise, a look of realization forming upon his face. "Hermione…" he whispered in a quiet warning.

"I never want you to think anything like that again," she interrupted. "And please, don't tell me how I shouldn't say such things to you. Because tomorrow…" Her voice caught, and she shook her head violently. "I needed to say it. And you need to know it."

Hermione watched him patiently, trying to gauge his reaction. He sat stolid and unmoving, the utter honesty of her words stunning him into silence. When she realized he would make no effort to speak, she let her head fall back onto his shoulder, wanting him to have time to absorb her words, praying that she had not said too much.

It was long minutes before Severus moved, taking an uncontrolled and shivering breath. Slowly, he reclined his head against the tree trunk, letting it loll slightly to the side so that his cheek just barely grazed the top of Hermione's head. Shutting his eyes, he once again breathed in the wet smell of the grass, combined now with the wonderful human scent of the woman beside him. Slowly drifting from consciousness, the last thing he was aware of was the gentle sound of the crickets.

* * *

Hermione lay calm and still, trying her best not to wake the sleeping man beside her. He was lying with his head close to her own, lips open every so slightly, yet enough so that she felt every warm exhalation of breath escaping his mouth. 

He must have been exhausted. She had thought it sweet when his head had come to nestle atop her own. But soon his breath had become so even, his body so relaxed, that she knew he had fallen asleep. Not wanting him to rest against the knotted wood of the tree, she had gently reclined against the soft grass, taking his body with her in a slow descent towards the ground.

Her eyes glittered warmly as he made a small noise in his sleep, unconsciously rolling closer to her. It had been so many nights ago when she had felt the first stirrings of wanting to comfort him. It had been a simple wish. She'd merely desired to give him the human support and caring that she doubted he was receiving elsewhere. Never had she thought it would come to this; for innocent compassion had yielded into something much greater. And as she looked at him now, she was more than willing to admit it.

She was so close to his body. They were no longer touching, but she felt the heat radiating off of him nonetheless. She had the wild notion to kiss his eyelids, which fluttered ever so often, but was nowhere near so daring. She would settle for a small touch though. Her shaking hand trembled its way towards his cheek, hovering carefully before finally making contact with the warmth of his skin. She inhaled through her teeth, hoping he wouldn't wake. When he failed to stir, she trailed her fingertips across his cheekbone, and investigated the small lines near the corner of his eye. She stroked his hair gently, grazing the dark, unkempt strands ever so lightly.

Conscience pervaded her enjoyment—she imagined he wouldn't care to know his personal space was being invaded in such a fashion, and reluctantly Hermione removed her hand. The loss of contact made her cold. Soon she found herself touching him again, just a whisper of her fingers against his face. She became lost in the contours and dips of his features, the soft skin of this hard man, so warm and pliant under her caresses.

* * *

Upon stirring, the first thing Severus realized was that he had sunk to a resting position upon the ground. So exhausted, it took nearly a full minute for him to register the feeling of fingers making a slow, meandering path through his hair. Still encompassed by the spell of sleep, he accepted the touch, though not unquestioningly. 

Fighting the desire for further rest, he peered out of heavy lids to identify the culprit. It was Hermione, appearing so peaceful as she studied him. The humidity had made her hair puff out about her, a halo that framed her face in a riotous tangle of curls. Her eyes were open wide, and he could see she was breathing in short, winded breaths. She'd not yet realized he was awake.

Her hands had grown careless, beginning to apply more pressure as they traced their way down his jaw, taking note of the varying angles and textures. Severus closed his eyes once more, reveling in the feeling of her gentle explorations of his skin. Her hand had soaked in his heat nicely, those warm fingers feeling wonderful as they grazed his brow.

A sudden surge of affection replaced his need for retaining any air of disinterestedness. No one had ever looked at him like that or cared for him so openly. And should morning not go well, no one might ever again. Larger reservations aside, Severus stirred. His heart beat rapidly as he watched his arm making its way to her. Shaking fingers closed around her slender hand, removing it from its place upon his cheek and slowing drawing it to his lips, where he brushed a chaste, thankful kiss on the inside of her palm.

Hermione gasped sharply at the unexpected contact, her eyes instantly connecting with his. She cringed inwardly, and despite the kiss, waited for the chastisement of her actions. When she received none, she searched his face, and this time he did not break their gaze. She smiled then, moving further into the curve of his body, her face so very close to his. Severus felt her warm breath caressing his skin, her scent and heat invading his senses. She continued her caresses upon his cheek, now knowing he was aware of her touch. Her hand lingered longer on his face, learning the dips and lines, taking in the feel of him. The last vestiges of sleep fell from his being as he watched the look in her eyes change from innocent affection to something else. He felt his breath picking up pace as her hand traveled from his cheek down to his lips, tracing the tiny dip below his mouth.

Severus squeezed his eyes shut, trying to control his breathing as he sensed her draw even closer. He felt a hand come to rest gently on his shoulder, fingers softly digging into the cloth covering his skin. There was nothing for a moment, and then suddenly there were lips, soft and moist pressing against the skin next to his mouth. They lingered there for a while, Severus' own lips parting slightly as a small sound of satisfaction escaped his mouth. He felt Hermione smile against his skin, and her head slowly traverse to the other side of his face where she left a similar kiss, gently nuzzling the slightly rough skin there, eliciting another soft breath from her companion.

Hermione moved back in order to see dark eyes staring at her with unmistakable longing. Her mouth twitched in a nervous smile, and she tilted her head to look at him. Severus simply stared at the woman above him, forgetting to breathe as his heart thundered in his chest, the affection he'd tried not to acknowledge now overwhelming him. He reached his hand towards her, his long fingers trailing warmth down her face. Hermione leaned into his touch, eyes closed. Severus' hand moved to cup the back of her head, slowly he drawing her closer to him. He stopped the gentle pull when she was a mere few inches from his face. Her eyelids fluttered open, and she looked at him questioningly.

"Hermione…" he breathed, trying to find the words to express what he felt. Hermione fondly smirked at his lack of words, nodding her head in understanding. She let her thumb run across his chin, Severus echoing the motion a moment later. He paused then, watching in wonder the woman above him, not surprised when the gap between them was closed, her lips finally meeting his own. They grazed him every so slightly, just barely brushing his skin. Inhaling deeply, he fiercely returned the kiss as he pressed into her, his hands dragging her slight body to him, holding her tightly as he gently squeezed her back and ran his hands along her sides. He ached as she filled his mouth with a soft sweetness that tangled with the bitter remnants of tea. Their kiss was fervent—her hands tangled in the back of his head, his tongue hopelessly twined with her own as he learned her taste.

A fierce feeling of want suddenly shot through him, startling him from her even as his nerves pulsed with excitement. Severus broke away, panting heavily as he stared at Hermione in stunned silence. She looked at him for a long while, her lips swollen, red and beautiful. A sad smile flittered across her face as she watched him. She ran her hand down the side of his face tenderly, leaning in leisurely to kiss the cool tip of his nose. Her whisper sent shivers up his spine as she moved close to his ear, her breath warm upon his temple. "This is not a goodbye, Severus." She drew back to look at him meaningfully and saw confusion there. She sighed, stroking his face one more time before resting the weight of her head upon his chest. She closed her eyes, listening to the rapid thumping of his heart that signified he was even less composed then he pretended.

Severus tensed, taking a few deep breaths as he glanced down at the feminine form resting upon him. He looked at her thoughtfully for a long while, his arms hanging listlessly at his sides as he tried to come to a decision. Another brief look and an almost indiscernible nod later, he settled them lightly around her, placing his hands gently on her back. Very soon he found himself rubbing his hands up and down her spine in soothing, random swirls. She sighed contentedly, becoming unaware of his ministrations as she drifted into sleep. Severus, however, stayed awake, pondering over her words as his eyes watched the line above the trees, waiting for the sun.


	16. A Sunrise

Chapter 16: A Sunrise

Weaving its way amongst brambles and branches, a restless wind prowled the forest. Pine needles were unsettled, tender stems bent, and amidst a mess of fading orange, green, and red, a lone browning leaf tenaciously clung to its appointed spot on a trembling branch, desperately grappling with gravity and the force of the cool current.

It was a short struggle. Fixed and stubborn though it may have been, the leaf was no match for a malevolent wind. A single snap and it was undone, ripped from its home and sent spiraling downwards towards the forest floor. It twisted and turned as it sank, preparing to take its place upon the variegated blanket of other fallen foliage. But before it could hit the earth, it was caught in the wind's icy grip, soon finding itself dragged across the ground, whispering as it beat against the pointed blades of grass.

The green sea abruptly ended as a sleeping form came into view. Entranced, the wind slowly moved closer, winding its way into a thick cloth that had been born to protect from such an intruder. Hovering for a moment, its chilled fingers probed into a bushy nest of hair, stealing all heat and warmth. Gently stroking the tangled tresses, it placed the brown leaf reverently atop the mass of curls before disappearing into the night, cooly brushing across a bit of pale skin as it did so. It was that, coupled with the low tones coming from her companion, which roused the peaceful dreamer from her sleep.

"Hermione," Severus murmured, "you need to wake up."

Fingers tightly clutching to the folds of his cloak, Hermione groaned, burying her head further into the warm space that had acted as her pillow for the greater part of the night. She rubbed her cheek against the layers of scratchy material, sighing contentedly as she further settled into his chest.

"Hermione," Severus urged again, this time less softly.

She did not respond, and a moment later felt herself being lifted through the air and set upon none too steady feet. She stumbled a bit, reaching to his arm for support. With bleary eyes she peered up at him. "What is it? It's not even light yet."

"I know," he stated, brushing the forest debris from his clothing with a singular interest. "I'm to go to before you."

The scowl that had instantly formed upon hearing his words was made even more visible as Hermione haphazardly brushed the hair from her face. "You're leaving? But I thought—"

Sensing a coming protest, Severus preemptively held up a hand. "In situations such as this, plans often change. For safety's sake, I'd like to confirm our course of action before the four of you enter the fray. As it is, Albus doesn't want Potter at the scene until it is absolutely necessary." Seeing the concern still on her face, he added, "The battle can't very well take place without the Boy Who Lived, can it? I _will_ be back."

Hermione frowned at his words. While not overtly cruel, still they weren't what she expected. Not after what they had shared last night. Disconcerted, she took a step closer to him. "It's just…it's happening so fast. I thought there'd be a bit more time to, to…" She stopped at the knowing look on Severus' face, his words from the previous night suddenly ringing in her ears. _I assure you, Hermione. It will be very real come morning_.

The truth of those words instantly washed over her, dispelling any lingering denial. Morning had come.

"I suppose I'll wake the boys. It takes Neville a while to be fully functional," she said with an unsure smile.

Severus nodded as his fingers adroitly secured the intricate fastening of his cloak. "I will see you in a few hours," he stated impersonally, his shoulders stiff as he addressed her. Turning abruptly, he made to leave.

Hermione watched his retreat, still feeling unsettled. She'd felt so close to him just a few moments before. But now.... She bit her lip nervously.

"Severus," she called, watching as his steady pace came to a halt. Quickly covering the steps he had taken, she stood in front of him, now needing to squint her eyes at the narrow sliver of sun that had just crept up over the trees. "Be careful," she implored

Now having access to her entire body, the chill of the wind nipped at any exposed bits of skin, causing her to shiver almost imperceptibly. Her arms tightly surrounded her small frame as she met his gaze worriedly. Slowly, Hermione saw his hand reach out to her, and she closed her eyes, a faint smile on her face in expectation of his caress. There was a tickle by her ear, a soft rustling, and then nothing. Opening her eyes, she saw Severus standing even further away.

He was still, studying her intensely for a long moment. "I will," he finally promised, turning his eyes from her. "Now go inside."

Hermione's eyes clouded over in disappointment. She wanted, no—needed some kind of resolution. But one glance at him told her that now was not the time. He stood dark and motionless, so very stern and imposing—more so than he ever had in the classroom. He looked…he looked ready to fight, she realized suddenly. His stature, his expression, even the fists at his side spoke of a man who was readying for battle. And such a man would not be anywhere near willing to listen to what she had to say.

Remembering that he was waiting for her to follow his instructions, she met his eyes, desperately trying to curb the urge to disobey. She gave him a small nod, quickly turning before she could change her mind. A moment later and she was gone, swallowed into the shadows of the cabin.

Severus had observed the maelstrom of emotions rushing through Hermione's face. As such, he was more than surprised when with a curt nod she had turned, striding towards the cabin. He had watched her every step, his eyes steadfast until the door was securely shut behind her. Upon hearing the latch of the door click into place, he looked down at his hand, curled into a loose fist. Slowly, he opened his fingers. Lying there was the frail, wilted shape of a small brown leaf that had once poked out its head from among a wild, curling formation of hair. He stared at it for a moment, and then turned to leave. As he walked away, he fiercely clutched the leaf in his hand, letting it crumble, the shards settling into the lines of his palm. They were still there upon reaching his destination.

* * *

Hermione let out a soft sigh as she closed the door, the familiar, musty scent of the cabin invading her nostrils. She blinked rapidly, her eyes attempting to adjust to the darkness.

"I was wondering when you'd come back," a voice whispered quietly.

Still not seeing, Hermione advanced a few steps towards the voice and then sank to a sitting position on the floor. The wood was cold and unforgiving, and for an instant she found herself wishing to return to the outdoors.

"It's morning. Severus already left to meet with Dumbledore. I told him I'd wake the three of you up."

"Harry slept like a log," Ron responded. "I thought I'd have to force him to get some rest, but he's been asleep since you left."

"He probably needed a break from worrying. Although," she amended, "if anyone should worry about today, it's Harry. I wish we could help. But I don't know that there is anything that we can do."

"What do you mean? We'll be there right with him, next to him—like always," Ron answered reproachfully.

"This is different, Ron, and you know it. Of course we'll be there—fighting—just like everyone else. But in the end…it's all up to Harry." She turned to look at him but only saw the rough outline of his shape on the bed.

They stopped talking for a while. Hermione could hear the sound of Neville turning about as he lay on the floor, murmuring soft unintelligibles before drifting back to sleep.

"When will he be back?" Ron asked, his voice cutting through the silence.

"A few hours. We should probably get ready to leave soon," Hermione said. Despite her words, she leaned against the wall tiredly, the coming events of the day overwhelming her. She tried to rid herself of her growing concern for Severus but failed miserably. Frustrated, she pushed back the tendrils of hair that had fallen around her face.

Sensing her change in thoughts, Ron said quietly, "You didn't have to stay outside all night. You know I'm not really angry, don't you?"

Her eyes now used to the darkness, Hermione could just make out the outline of her friend, his eyes looking to her earnestly.

"Well…no, I didn't know that. I'm glad to hear it," she said with a small smile. "But that wasn't the reason I didn't stay here last night."

There was a pause and then a heavy sigh. "You wanted to talk to Snape," Ron stated glumly.

"Yes," Hermione responded unsympathetically. "We had some things to work out."

"And did you?" Ron asked.

"I don't know," Hermione answered quietly. "I hope so." She sighed again, stretching her arms, feeling the tension that had settled between her shoulder blades. Hauling herself to her feet, she extended a hand to her friend who quickly came to a standing position at her side. "Come on. Time to wake these two up," she said, motioning to their two sleeping companions.

"Already?" Ron questioned. "I thought we'd let Harry sleep for a bit longer."

"No, best get an early start. It will leave us time to prepare."

"Prepare?" Ron asked skeptically. "What do you mean?"

Hermione just smiled. "Let's wake them up first, shall we?"

* * *

Panting, Hermione hesitantly peered around the width of a tree trunk, her eyes rapidly scanning her surroundings. Fingers pressing into scabrous bark, she braced herself against the gnarled wood, willing the wild beat of her heart to slow. She exhaled quietly, listening for the tell-tale sounds she knew should be somewhere to her left. There was the soft echo of wind rustling branches, the ever present choir of singing insects, her own panting breath…and then…the snap of a twig, almost indiscernible among the other noises. Hermione's eyes narrowed suspiciously.

"Expelliarmus!"

With a violent movement of her hand, Hermione's voice surged forward, cutting across the thicket, the spell shooting from her wand towards its intended target. However, it was easily deflected, and Hermione's eyes opened wide at the sneer that appeared on her enemy's mouth before issuing an offense.

"Densaugeo!"

Hermione's brows rose in surprise. "Protego!" she cried, her hand gripping her wand tightly as she watched the spell dissipate before her eyes. Hands on her hips, she glared, small lines of discontent forming at the corners of her mouth as she pursed her lips disapprovingly.

"That was not at all amusing, Harry Potter," she stated irritably.

"That's funny, because I thought it was bloody brilliant!" Ron exclaimed, moving to stand next to Harry, whose lips continued to twitch in unexpressed mirth.

"Oh, come on, Hermione. It was a good choice, really. You'd just as soon see that as an Unforgiveable," he teased, winking at her cheekily.

Hermione shook her head and let out a hopeless sigh. "You boys are really terrible, do you know that?" she asked. Ron snickered as Harry took a bow. Hermione looked from one to the other and then rolled her eyes. "That's enough. Serious practice now, all right? Back to our groups. This time I start."

Moving to her place at the top of hill, Hermione gazed down at her three friends fondly, the light of the morning sun bathing them in a yellow glow. They were powerful, determined, gifted. And for now, they were happy. Looking at each of their smiling faces, she hoped she would always remember them like this.

Grinning, Hermione extended her wand. "Serpens Sortia!"


	17. A Promise

Chapter 17: A Promise

Oft times gliding, other times sneaking, the usually inaudible footsteps of Severus Snape now tread heavily upon the blanketed pathway leading towards the cabin. Though the rapid crunch of his boots startled some of the woodland creatures from the underbrush, his pace neither slowed nor faltered. Pressing into the rain softened ground, his heels created shallow, crescent-shaped wounds into the grainy mud. The hem of his cloak trailed behind him, brushing across the earth, comforting the hurt in a sweeping caress.

A loud cracking sound—one he was sure had not come from him—caught his attention. Squinting into the wooded darkness, he tried to make out the source of the noise. He waited a while, warm, white puffs of air obscuring his view. Feeling he could tarry no longer, he again began walking, his steps gaining speed as he moved among the trees.

Far too much time had been spent at Hogwarts unnecessarily. There had been no meeting with Albus, though he'd deliberately misled the girl into thinking such a thing. There was little that could be done to protect her now, but he would do what he was able. He'd not have her trailing him as he scouted the grounds—not when there was a heavily warded haven that could protect her. Severus knew she would resent this slight deception on his part, but her disapproval would not prevent him from taking actions he felt were both crucial and required. And she would never know.

Upon leaving her, it had taken many minutes before he'd finally broken from the forest and entered into the open area belonging to Hogwarts. He'd let out a heavy breath, the sense of anxious anticipation he had been nursing since the onset of his journey dissipating as soon as the castle had come into view. Stone and archways, it appeared the same as always—tall, sturdy and strong. He'd almost been tempted to stride through the great doors, to see with his own eyes the changes that, thus far, had been invisibly made. It was difficult trying to picture his long ago comrades replacing the hordes of children usually cluttering the halls. He had never thought he would _prefer_ the students, he'd noted sharply.

The cold bite of the air and the bitter taste of bile forming in the back of his throat had caused his eyes to burn. He'd expected to see some sign of darkness from the castle, some movement on the grass, the flutter of a misplaced leaf. But there was _nothing_. It was as if everything had come to a halt. Just…waiting. As he marched forward, the one living, breathing, moving thing in sight, he'd felt an intense sense of loneliness that overwhelmed his daily understanding of the word.

Circling the perimeter of the school, he'd stayed as far from the walls as possible. It was useless, he had known, to try to remain undetected. Years ago, he'd ensured that the Dark Lord would be able to sense his presence. The mark on his arm continued to burn under a heavy layer of black. Yet his time as a spy had heightened his need for caution. It was in the long shadows of the branches stretching from the forest that he'd walked, his feet knowing not to carry him further into the sunlight, past the boundary of darkness.

He'd always thought they'd have the advantage, working from inside the safety of Hogwarts' constructs. There'd been far too little time to prepare for a circumstance such as this. Before they'd evacuated the school, Albus had assured him of their success, though rarely had they prepared for anything beyond defense. Severus had doubted the confident words at their inception, and his doubts had only grown during the night. He knew better than Albus what they were to face. And that he would have to rely even more upon the skills of aurors and volunteer wizards did even less to comfort him.

Finishing the circle around the castle, his eyes had drifted upwards, towards the window belonging to the Headmaster's office. The glass was clean and clear, the place of the sun in the sky ensuring little glare on the sheer surface. Suddenly, there was movement behind the pane. Drawing his cloak further around him, Severus had hurried on his way.

He'd taken one last look at the landscape before returning to the forest. There was still movement at the window, a face half obscured by glass and gloom. They'd seen him. And they were preparing, just as he was.

And now, mere minutes from the cabin, he couldn't help but feel as if he'd been followed.

* * *

"That was a good shot, Neville," Hermione called. "But you still have to be faster than that." Panting, she bent down, resting her hands on her knees as she attempted to catch her breath. Her cheeks were flushed red, the insistent stitch in her side alluding to many an hour spent among her books. She'd have to be a bit faster herself. Hopefully, her naturally speedy reflexes would compensate for prior lack of physical exertion. 

The pain in her side not diminishing, she sank to the ground in order to catch her breath. Appreciating the rest, Hermione began to watch the boys in earnest. Her lips quirked upwards as she fixed her gaze upon Neville, observing as he fired a hex at Harry. He was showing true skill, and for that she was grateful. When she'd heard that Neville would be joining them, she'd worried—images of how he had been as a young boy flooding into memory. But seeing him in action now, she knew he was prepared as any of them. He'd come a long way. They all had, really.

Cramp finally subsiding, Hermione removed her hand from her side, turning her attention to Ron as he sidestepped a particularly nasty curse. Over the course of the past two years she'd seen his stubborn streak diminish significantly. While certainly not docile, he'd become much more willing take direction when it was needed. Their friendship was more of a partnership now than it ever was. She couldn't express how thankful she'd been when she saw him consciously tempering his tendency to act brashly, think later. She supposed it had been a natural reaction after what had happened to Sirius.

Sirius Black's death had been a terrible blow—but especially to Harry. It had taken almost a year for him to recover, to divest himself of the bitterness that had come to coat every look and word. His talks with Professor Lupin had helped a great deal. Hermione was convinced that it was the understood and mutual mourning between the two that had revived her friend. Though still present, Harry's anger had become less an irrational, all-consuming force, developing into something far more righteous in nature. Hermione knew that what anger was left was called for. She comforted herself with the knowledge that at least the lens he looked through was an improved shade of red.

Still studying the boys, a prickling sensation on her skin did not go unnoticed. Having the acute feeling of being watched, Hermione scanned their surroundings, and in doing so noticed another pair of eyes moving over the expanse of the clearing, darkly surveying the rapidly shooting spells and hexes biting through the air. Her smile came unbidden, relief flooding her body. The eyes turned to her as she jumped up from her place on the ground. Nodding, Severus gestured towards the cabin, expecting her to follow as he sunk out of sight.

Nearly tripping in her haste, Hermione ignored the call of her friends as she sped towards the cabin. Slowing as she reached the door, she heard the hollow sound of her shoes as they hit the wooden floor. The room was shaded as ever, and the small smile that lingered on her face receded when she did not clearly make out his form. Seeing that he had hidden himself in the darkest corner of the room, she moved in further still. "I'm glad you're back," she said softly. "Severus?" she asked, cocking her head as she waited for a response.

Startling her, Severus suddenly surged forward, his hand coming up to cup the air close to her face. "What is this?" he accused, his eyes angrily taking stock of her forehead.

Hermione frowned, brushing a tendril of hair from her face. "What's what?" she asked, probing the area in question. She cringed as her fingertips came upon a small laceration across her brow bone. "Oh. It's nothing, just a small cut from our practice. I'm fine," she assured him.

"You are _not _fine," Severus answered angrily. He scowled as he withdrew his wand. With a whispered incantation and a flick of his hand, Hermione felt the broken skin knit together. Her fingers again sought out the wound, but this time were unable to detect even the slightest traces of scar.

"Thank you," she smiled. Her brows rose as she watched him retreat several steps away.

Severus stared at the place she'd been hurt, the crease between his brows deepening. He began softly, "Ms. Granger…effort should be made…one final time..." Noticing her hands beginning to clench, he continued in a stronger voice, "Effort should be made in an attempt to convince you, one last time, to reconsider your decision." He held a hand up to staunch the words threatening to flow from her mouth. "There is much to be done behind the scenes. I realized I've rarely complimented you…but your mind is a fine weapon...the finest you possess. You should use i>that /i> to defeat the Dark Lord. Not your wand. No matter how the battle may unfold, it's your intellect that will be needed in the aftermath. A mind like yours…it has no place in battle."

Hermione let out an exasperated sigh. "It's _Hermione_," she corrected heatedly. "Maybe you're right. Maybe we _should_ try to protect the prize brains of the wizarding world. But I would so hate to miss out on the battle. Perhaps you can get Dumbledore to direct the action towards the Quidditch pitch? We'll have our choice of seats. Because you will be joining me, of course, if intellect is to be the deciding factor in who's permitted to participate in this war." Hands on her hips, Hermione stared at Severus defiantly. "Or not permitted, as the case may be," she added seditiously.

Severus surveyed her angry display without interruption. Uncrossing his arms in order to pinch the bridge of his nose, he scowled unhappily. "You are a foolish girl," he remarked, breaking the silence as he met her eyes once again. He sighed, and then nodded his head to himself. "All right then. You've made your decision. I'll no longer attempt to dissuade you. But I do have something else to say in regards to this war." He paused, and for the first time in a long while, tried to formulate his words in the most diplomatic manner possible. "War is not a time for bad habits, Hermione. And you've always had certain…bad habits…in regard to three particular boys." He lowered his voice gravely. "These habits are not something I wish to see translate to the battle field."

"I think fighting a war is a bit different than helping with homework."

Severus arched a brow. "You might be surprised. War brings out the very essence of who we are. You have always looked after those three, and it will be against your nature not to do so today. But if you are to fight, you must promise me to look after yourself, and only yourself. Dumbledore will protect Harry until it is time for him to face the Dark Lord. Up until that time, he will be safer than any of us. I do not want to see you put yourself at risk unnecessarily. Promise me you will leave Potter to himself."

She didn't answer right away, causing Severus to repeat more forcefully, "Promise me."

Hermione inhaled sharply at the fierce sound of his voice. "I promise that I will take care of myself, and I promise that I will stay out of Dumbledore's way as best I can. But I've spent seven years with those three, Severus…and we are strongest when together. In the end…I'm going to be with them. I _have_ to be with them." The words were spoken in a determine voice, but looking up at him, her eyes were apologetic.

Severus drew his lips together grimly. "I suppose I will have to accept that then," he answered tersely. Irritated, he stared at her for a moment before letting the fabric of his cloak brush past her as he headed for the door.

"Severus," Hermione called after him.

He stopped, but didn't turn to look at her.

"About last night…I know this isn't the time to be spouting any confessions of...well, I don't know what. I'm not ready for that, and I don't think you are either. But," she continued quietly, "as for last night...I would like to acknowledge that it happened."

Slowly, Severus turned to face her. Looking into her eyes, so brown and hopeful, he felt his resentment melting away. "It's acknowledged," he said softly. Against his better judgment, he reached for her, allowing a finger to trace the newly healed skin across her brow.

"Good," she uttered breathlessly, feeling him secure a lock of hair behind her ear.

"Herm—" Severus began unsurely, suddenly cut off by the Neville's cry for her from outside.

Hermione shook her head resignedly. "I'd better go see to that." She looked at him regretfully before walking towards the door, her shoes once again making that hollow noise upon the floor. Pausing to look back, she asked, "Will we be leaving soon?"

A single nod of the head was her answer. Hand on the doorknob, Hermione hesitated, mouth open as if she'd something more to say. But her name was called again, and with a parting sad smile she left for the company of her friends.

Severus stared at the empty door frame for a long moment, the light from it hurting his eyes. Clearing his throat, he walked to the opening.

"Weasley," he barked.

* * *

Resting on his knees as he tried to catch his breath, Ron jumped at the booming quality of his name as it came over the clearing. He shot a questioning look at Hermione as she passed him. Catching his eyes, she shrugged and moved on to help Neville. 

"Better hurry up, mate," Harry said.

"I know, I know," Ron muttered reluctantly. He spent a moment longer examining the yellow-green stain on both of his pant legs. Kneeling in grass and black mud, he'd rather be here than in a wooden cave with its very own black bat. Shaking his head, Ron stood, brushing the dirt from his clothing. He saw Harry give him a sympathetic look as he walked towards what he was sure would be an unpleasant encounter.

Ron warily made his way to the cabin steps and found Snape waiting for him there. The man looked worse than usual. Sleeping outdoors had done nothing for his appearance. At least at Hogwarts he had been clean, his clothes neatly pressed and devoid of dirt. His professor's rumpled and more-worn-than-usual exterior was disconcerting to say the least. It made him seem almost…human.

Noticing Ron's study of him, Snape shot him a withering look. Without preamble, he began to speak. "I'm loath to ask a favor of you, Mr. Weasley, but necessity compels it. During the battle, Potter will need to keep his wits about him, and Longbottom is far too incompetent. I will try as best I can, but the Dark Lord will likely be keeping all too close of a watch on my person for me to be of much use—"

"You want me to look after Hermione," Ron interjected.

The look of annoyance on Severus' face at being interrupted quickly changed to one of surprise. Perhaps the boy was not as dense as he had originally thought. "So you will do it?" he asked, his words clipped.

"She's my friend. I'd be watching out for her anyway. Not that she really needs it though. She can be quite scary when she's angry."

"I doubt the Death Eaters will find her terribly frightening, Weasley," Severus said condescendingly.

Ron shrugged. "Then that'll be their mistake."

"Let us hope so." A faraway look came into Severus' eyes, and the room went quiet.

At the sudden silence, Ron examined Snape more closely. "All this concern…You really care for her, don't you?"

Severus narrowed his eyes. "Does it matter?" he challenged.

"Yes, it matters. It matters because I love Hermione. I want her to be happy." Ron paused, furrowing his brow, and then began to speak at an unprecedented speed. "I don't think I'll ever be ok with this. But if you really had her best interest at heart…I might accept it. One day."

"I care very little for what you do or do not accept, Mr. Weasley," Snape answered acidly.

There was another long silence, and then Ron spoke again. "Do you…_love_…her?" he asked in a bewildered tone.

Severus stared at him, equally discomfited by the question. "Time to go, Mr. Weasley," he said quietly. Charging ahead of the red haired young man, he walked towards the clearing and then just as quickly spun around. "Do me the honor of not forgetting your promise." Severus gave him a threatening glare before he sharply turned, making his way towards the youthful voices behind the curtain of trees.

Ron stared as the older man stalked off, hair and cloak billowing ominously in the breeze. Following in his wake, Ron, not for the first time, was grateful that the git was on their side. Even if he did like Hermione.


	18. A Chase

Chapter 18: A Chase

The trees stood tall and towering. Deep-rooted residents of the forest, their itching branches rubbed together, whispering unintelligible nothings to those that lay beneath. They formed a curtain, denying outsiders entrance with a thick wall of twig and bark, tightly laden with leaves. And even as they forbid intruders, so too did they try to keep that which was of the forest to remain.

Five bodies made their way through the tangle of wild weeds, more a part of the earth than when first they had arrived due to a generous coating of plant and dirt. A recognition, an acknowledged belonging—their woodland dress an informal induction that caused the bushes and vines to clutch at cloak and cloth in hungry ownership. Confidently shrouded by shadows, the brambling shrubs of the forest floor rose up, scratching skin, tripping toes…doing their utmost best to let linger these new inhabitants who so plainly wished to leave.

Shaded in layers of overgrowth and gloom, the more dangerous details of the trees' nature were hidden from view. Grotesquely gnarled, an emergent root caught the tip of Hermione's shoe, dragging her down towards the earth. She made a surprised sound, reaching blindly as she prepared to fall. But instead of an unyielding ground, she struck the much softer form ahead of her, causing both persons to stumble.

Her savior's balance was far better than her own, allowing both to right themselves, shaky as the recovery may have been. Turning about, the inquisitive face of Ron Weasley peered at her from the darkness.

"You okay there?" he asked, hands on her shoulders in an effort to steady her.

She nodded, grimacing at her inelegance. "I'm fine. Sorry about that."

"No problem," he smiled, though strain was evident in his features.

They again began to walk, Hermione following behind, smoothing her robes as she went. Attempting to avoid another accident, she directed her eyes to the ground, only to see the tiniest slivers of light that had escaped through the foliage, dancing like the sun on water. Feet yet imperceptible, she sighed, her eyes returning to the spot before her. Her friend's ginger hair bobbed ahead, still visible in the darkness. Very visible, in fact.

"Ron," she said, her whisper sounding harsh upon the cool air. "I know Severus said we should all stay together, but I don't think he meant for us to be _this _close."

She waited for him to move away, but found her words to have the opposite effect. He moved closer, and she found herself shortening her steps so as not to again collide with him.

"Then who'd be there to catch you?" he retorted, not bothering to turn around.

Hermione frowned at his teasing tone, now having to mince her steps even as the pace of the group accelerated. She had the distinct impression that Ron was trying to protect her. While she appreciated the sentiment, she did wish he would mind _himself _rather than depleting his energies by worrying over her. She'd proven on more than one occasion that she could handle herself, Hermione thought, slightly insulted.

Suddenly, she felt a finger tapping at her shoulder, pulling her from her thoughts.

"Did you feel that?" Neville asked, his voice jarring in the quietude.

"Longbottom!" Severus hissed, hearing him even from the front of the line. He shot a threatening look at the offender before returning his attention to the landscape. Moving an arm to the side, he slowed them wordlessly, his eyes struggling to discern what lay beyond the trees.

"Feel what?" Harry whispered under his breath, his brows furrowed.

Neville glanced at Severus nervously before leaning forward, close to Harry's ear. "I think it's drizzling," he confided.

No sooner had the words passed his lips than Hermione felt a wet drop of water hit her head, bypassing the thick tangles of her hair to coldly drip down her scalp. It was soon followed by another, and then another.

The group gathered about their professor, forming a tight circle as they waited for his signal to begin moving.

"I can't believe this," Harry said bitterly, wiping a hand at the wetness on his forehead.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "It's not something to get upset over," she admonished. "We have more important things to worry about, don't you think?" She sent him a reproving look, watching as he crossed his arms resignedly.

"It _is _rather cliché," Severus noted, squinting as he probed the darkness with the brightly lit tip of his wand.

Hermione opened her eyes wide in surprise. Had he not been so preoccupied, Severus would _never _have allied himself with Harry, even on a subject as insignificant as this. Her lips twitched in a smile despite the gravity of their predicament. She flicked her eyes toward Harry to see if he shared in her amusement. He didn't.

"Rain on the day of battle. Wouldn't have it any other way," Ron announced with artificial cheer, turning his face upwards in order to be misted.

"Don't be ridiculous, Weasley," Severus said sharply, satisfied when the addressed went silent. "Now pay attention." He paused, making sure to meet their eyes, even through the veil of darkness and raindrops. "The land we've traveled on has thus far been protected. That is about to end. A foot further from our current location and we will no longer have the wards to shield us. For your safety, you must stay close together, be wary of—" He stopped short, blinking as a drop of water found its way into his eye. "For the love of…." he muttered, his words trailing off. Casting a water repelling charm upon himself, he glared at his charges. "I suggest you do the same," he stated tersely. He waited, continuing only once they had finished wish their wands. "The woods are not safe. I believe I was followed on my return this morning."

Hermione's head jerked up sharply at that. She furrowed her brows in confusion, Severus noticing her distress. He looked at her, offering in explanation, "There were other things that needed discussing."

There was a meaningful pause before he again addressed the group. "From this point on, it is imperative that you have your wands at the ready." He held his prominently by his side in demonstration. Nodding shortly, he began to walk, taking three steps before turning again to face them. "It is only ten minutes before we reach the castle. But those ten minutes...they will be long ones," he warned, "and dangerous." He turned around, calling over his shoulder, "I do hope you can keep your guard up for that length of time." Charging ahead of them, his long strides soon passed the limits of magical protection.

A shiver traveled up Hermione's spine as she watched him go. Clutching her wand tightly, she hurried to match his pace.

The travelers walked in silence for a while, the drumming of the rain on the fallen leaves taking the place of trivial talk. Ears straining to discern whether the many noises were of nature or foe, their heads turned often, their wands drawn at all times.

A stick shattered sharply under the weight of someone's boot, causing Hermione to jump, her shoulder bumping into Harry's. She apologized, but was met with a stony silence.

"Are you all right?" she questioned, her eyes still trained on their surroundings.

"Bit anxious," he admitted. "I know that before it seemed like I wanted to put this off, but now I just want it to be over, Hermione. I…I don't want to do this anymore. I don't think I can i take anymore," he ended weakly.

Smiling sadly, she gave his arm a comforting squeeze. "You won't have to. We're all going to be able to start fresh after this. It ends today, Harry."

"I know," he answered, shrugging off her touch.

They passed the next few minutes quietly. Hermione divided her time between watching the trees and watching Severus. There was more light here, the leaves less densely packed. She could see him easily now, unimpeded by shadows. She studied his motions and movements, his expressions when facing in her direction. It had been gradual, but the speed with which he plowed through the brush had increased significantly, his head darting from side to side more rapidly as well. His wand was held forward and alert, far from the downward position it had taken when first they had started. She frowned at this, her rain-dampened fingers tightening around her own wand.

A few more paces and she saw Severus stiffen, cocking his head as if listening for something. Then, without warning, he turned and began to move, advancing towards them with urgency in his gait. Hair tangled and wet about his face, he was upon her. "Run," he commanded in a low voice, pointing towards a break in the trees.

Hearing his words, Hermione froze, even as Harry and Neville instantly obeyed their professor's command, their figures growing smaller as they sprinted towards the light.

A hand roughly seized her own. "Come on, Hermione!" Ron urged, forcibly pulling her down the sodden slope of leaves and grass.

Half dragged, Hermione struggled to be let free. "Severus," she yelled, fighting Ron's well-intentioned hands.

"Go!" Severus ordered loudly, running at a far slower pace behind them. Looking back, he sent a spell of dark red to cut across where they'd just been standing, watching as it darted behind the trees.

Hermione found herself continuing to move despite her protests. Finally breaking from the forest, she tumbled to the ground, Ron's arms bracing her from the worst of the impact. Scrambling to a sitting position, she did not hear the faint sounds of familiar voices—friendly voices—coming toward her. Instead, she remained oblivious and still, her eyes staring steadfast at the spot from which she fell.

* * *

Severus emerged from the woods many minutes later, panting as his legs slowed from their rapid pace. On alert, his eyes scanned the area warily, only to come across the shape of Hermione, collapsed upon the ground. He strode to her single-mindedly, bending to one knee in order to examine her. "Are you all right?" he asked, brushing the tangled hair from her face in order to see her properly. 

She didn't answer, instead launching her arms about him in a fierce embrace. Severus felt a little jolt in his constitution at this display of feeling. Hands coming to rest at the small of her back, her hair tickling his fingertips, he allowed himself to hold her for only a little while before noticing the many sets of eyes upon him. He stiffened, and bringing Hermione with him, drew up to both feet, gently disentangling himself from her hold.

"Albus," he acknowledged solemnly, stepping away from her.

"Severus," the headmaster returned, his eyes looking beyond the small group to the outline of trees. "I take it the woods are no longer safe?"

Severus examined his friend before answering, noting the evident weariness in his eyes. It seems the man had not returned from his prior ordeal completely unscathed. He scowled and then shook his head. "I was followed as I returned from Hogwarts earlier this morning. They are not just within the castle. I expect that many of the strategies we had planned will now be used against us." He looked back, taking in the moving shapes and shadows. "They are in the forest, Albus. There will be no retreat for us," he said, lowering his voice. He gazed at Dumbledore earnestly, willing him to fully comprehend his words.

The headmaster returned his look with aged eyes. "There was never a plan for retreat, Severus," he answered quietly.

The younger man nodded in understanding, turning with Albus to take in the assembly before them.

Potter and Weasley were encompassed within a circle of Weasleys, all but the youngest seeming present. Minerva was there. Filius. Lupin. Moody. He took some time to examine some of the less familiar faces, recognizing a good many of them to be former students. _Wonderful._

Moving to direct the crowd, he'd only gone a few paces before turning to see Hermione standing still, staring up at the very window he'd stood under just a while before. He frowned and walked towards the circle of copper-haired wizards. Coming to a halt just before them, he crossed his arms disparagingly. "Weasley," he drawled, not bothering to differentiate between the many of them.

Speaking with his parents, Ron turned at the sound of Snape's voice. "Professor?" he asked.

Severus simply jerked his head towards Hermione. Pleased as understanding filled Ron's face, he watched the boy move to join his friend.

"Ron, where are you going?" Molly asked anxiously, looking as if to chase after him. She appeared frayed and humorless, the cheerful pattern of her jumper not translating to the expression on her face.

"Just going to check on Hermione, Mum," Ron said, frustration lacing his voice. "The two of us will be right back."

"You shouldn't be here at all!" Molly shouted at the back of her son's retreating form, her wand hand trembling with emotion.

"Mum," Bill said, "Ron's of age now. He's not a child. If he feels strongly about this, he should be here…with the rest of us."

"He's the youngest, aside from Ginny. He's hasn't graduated yet. He hasn't _lived_ yet! He is putting his future in jeopardy when it is not necessary! That's why all the rest of us are here…to protect the futures of all you young ones," Molly insisted, her voice become all the more shrill as she went on.

Severus sneered as he turned away. "Where there is a Potter, there is always a Weasley. I hardly think you'd be able to keep the boy away," he said as he merged into the crowd, a black speck amid a flurry of richly colored cloth.

Livid, Molly yelled after him though he was already a good ways away. "I don't want any of your sarcasm, Severus Snape. Now is not the time, believe you me!"

"Molly, calm down," Arthur said, rubbing her back. "Ron is here, and there is nothing we can do to change that. Let's be supportive, shall we? Let's be a family." Looking grimly at those around him, he drew closer to her, resting his hand on her waist.

"The children shouldn't be here," Molly reiterated in a mournful voice. "It's bad enough that Harry's here. But why does Ron have to be? And Hermione? You too, Bill. You've not started a family yet." Seeing Harry's down turned face, Molly bit her lip. "Oh, I don't blame you, Harry. Please don't believe I think that."

Harry nodded curtly, trying to stifle the guilt that had quite easily come to mix with an already abundant amount of anxiety. Turning to look at Ron and Hermione, both talking quietly a few yards away, he wished once again that he could spare them this.

* * *

Robes greedily drinking in the moisture of the earth, Hermione sat on the ground, watching as the professionals set about the business of reopening Hogwarts to those of the Order. Their softly recited incantations hummed in her ears, mixing with the louder buzz of wizards and witches, whose numbers had increased steadily since her own arrival. 

Fingers playing with a blade of grass, she heard the pop of more apparations. The noises had first comforted her, knowing that each represented another that would help in the fight against Voldemort. Yet as they continued, the area filling soundly, what had been a group of friends now more closely resembled an army, which was causing reality to set in even further still. That, coupled with the damp Scottish weather, made Hermione shiver. Vengefully, she ripped a fistful of grass from the ground.

Tiring of the thus far fruitless magic display, her eyes turned towards Severus. She never thought to see him more commanding than in the classroom, but today he seemed in his element. Over the course of the past two hours, he had made rounds amongst every individual here, at least that she could see. Giving directions, answering questions. She knew he must feel more than responsible, being the only true authority on the habits of Death Eaters during battle. Surrounded by colleagues, she could see his finger pointedly jabbing at some spot on Harry's map, his hand moving quickly over the parchment.

She supposed he felt her eyes on him, for despite his focus elsewhere, he turned to meet her gaze.

Ron, who had been seated next to her, noticed the slight exchange, excusing himself as he recognized the look in Snape's eyes. "Professor," he acknowledge, brushing past the taller man as he strode towards his family.

Her gaze never leaving him, Hermione sent Severus a small smile, assuming he would again return to his work. Instead, he pointed once more to the paper, then handing it to Moody. He walked forward, and then to her utter surprise, gracefully sank beside her onto the rain-sodden grass.

He said nothing, turning his attention towards the rapidly working ward breakers. Confused by his silence, Hermione glanced at his face, but found his expression indeterminable. Making a downward journey, her eyes came to fall upon an artful hand resting by her side. Suddenly, a flashback came upon her, memories of innocent touches and a recession of loneliness—at least for one night.

A wave of fear rushed over her. This might be the last time she would sit with this difficult, taciturn man. If the war went badly, if one of them were hurt…. Imperceptible to any but the two of them, Hermione inched closer, letting the right side of her body gently graze his left. Taking comfort in the slight contact, she released a small sigh, causing him to turn his gaze towards her questioningly.

"I like this…sitting with you," she admitted. Black eyes meeting brown, she added, "I'm going to tell you something, but I don't want you telling me it's not too late to change my mind."

Severus looked at her, narrowing his eyes. Posture relaxed, legs stretched out before him, he still managed to look imposing.

"I'm scared," she said quietly.

He examined her for a moment, and then nodded his head. "That is a natural reaction," he said evenly.

"Preparing myself to come here, I thought I was scared. A healthy fear, you know? But that was just anxiety. What just happened in that forest—_that _was fear. I've already faced death…but…I don't know," she said, shaking her head. "It felt different this time." She stared up at him. "I'm a Gryffindor. Where is that bravery that I'm supposed to have?" she said, laughing nervously.

"You are frightened but do not allow that fear to change your course of action. There's your courage."

"I suppose," she capitulated. "I just don't feel particularly courageous right now." Looking down, she saw her hands grasping the folds of her robes rather tightly, the knuckles turning white. Loosening her grasp, she paused, looking at him appraisingly. "I suppose you are used to this."

Severus shook his head. "I may know more than most what is to transpire…but past experience has certainly not engendered in me an indifference towards battle. There is always a risk, as well as that bit of fear that will not be done away with, no matter what you may tell yourself." He paused, and then looking ahead, added, "And there will be times when that fear will be more pronounced than ever before."

"You mean now?"

He bowed his head, conceding.

"I suppose I'm in good company then," she said, smiling slightly. "So you've not felt this way before every battle?"

"No," he answered shortly.

She nodded her head. "It _is_ different this time, being that it's the last—"

"No," Severus interrupted. "As far as emotions are concerned, at least for me, the last might feel the same as the first, if the risk is the same. But if you have something to lose…your feelings upon entering the battle will be much more powerful." He let out a loud breath and then said so softly that it could hardly be heard, "And today the stakes are higher than they have ever been."

Hermione nodded absentmindedly, watching as a series of indigo sparks shot from the wand of the tallest ward breaker.

"Personally."

"Pardon?" she asked, returning her attention to Severus.

His eyes also on the progress of the dismantling of the wards, he continued, not looking at her. "Personally. The stakes are higher than they have ever been…for me. Personally."

Hermione's head turned sharply, startled by his admission. Lips slightly open, she searched his face, which was, as ever, masking its secrets. His eyes evading her own, Severus slowly drew to his feet.

"If you must be with your friends, stay close to Weasley. I will be with you at first, but if I find I am being singled out, I will go my own way. Don't follow me, Hermione. No repeat performances of our walk," he said, though not without caring. "Potter will have Dumbledore with him, so you're not to worry for him either." His eyes swept over her, quickly absorbing any and all details. "I want you to take care of yourself," he finished.

For one small moment, those usually dark, shuttered eyes were open, translucent in their concern. Hermione could make out every detail of worry and caring that shone from them. "You too," she whispered, near tears.

Suddenly, what had been sporadic sparks of blue became a brilliant white light, illuminating the gloom that had settled upon the landscape at the onset of the rain. There was a crackling in the air from where the ward breakers were concentrated. Then there was silence.

The men stood back, watching the dying spark of light emanating from the tip of Dumbledore's wand. He looked at them solemnly and then nodded his head.

The steady murmuring and whispers died away as Dumbledore's posture became tall and straight. Facing the group, his eyes shone with a sorrowful determination. There was no need for words, no speech. Turning his back to them, the headmaster's elderly eyes took in the sight of the castle, turrets and heavy stone standing high in the sky. There was an intake of breath, and then he began to walk, his feet sinking into the softening earth as he made his way toward Hogwarts.

**A/N:** Two chapters out in a few weeks—haven't been able to do that in a long time! Actually, I wrote this a bit more quickly than I'd have liked to, but I thought I should get it out there before I'm unable to do so. I _will_ start writing the next one right away, but it probably won't see daylight for a while. My vacation is sadly coming to a close, and with it goes all time for hobbies. Creative writing shelved, music languishing…it's all very sad. sigh I _do_ hope it won't be as bad as all that though! But just in case—take care, everyone. Thank you so much for reading. Your feedback is very much appreciated!

PPS: Whenever it may appear, the next chapter will be titled 'A Death'.


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